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ASENDl 


A WEST AFRICAN TALE 


B Y 

MRS. GEORGE H. STROUSE 

h 


PRICE $1.50 


PUBLISHED BY 

The Chemical Publishing Co. 

EASTON, PA. 




5 LIBRARY of C0N2RE3S j 
Two Copies RecoiVtoO 

DEC 6 i90r j 

^vQPyrigni tntrj 5 

i ntc (^,/907 

CLASS d AXc. m. 

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COPY B. 


Copyright 1907, by 


Mrs. GiiORGR H. Strovsk 


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TABLE OF CONTENTS 


Chapter One 

Chapter Two 

Chapter Three • . . 

Chapter Four 

Chapter Five 

Chapter Six 

Chapter Seven 

Chapter Eight 

Chapter Nine 

Chapter Ten 

Chapter Eleven . • 
Chapter Twelve - - • 
Chapter Thirteen - . 
Chapter Fourteen. 
Chapter Fifteen . . - 
Chapter Sixteen - - 
Chapter Seventeen 
Chapter Eighteen - 


• The Sergeant 

Asendi 

• David and Asendi 

Rev, and Mrs, Brown, Missionaries 
Some Natives 

- • Mrs. Brown 

The Bale 

More Natives 

Mrs, Brown Again 

Mr, Maxwell 

John Asendi Brown 

Men on the Boat 

People of America 

Susan 

Asendi and Susan 

A Mother 

The Gate Keepers 

- r t - ...... r .... . Sergeant Graham 


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Chapter One. 


The Sergeant. 


At one time a caravan moved from Ibadan farther 
into the interior of the Dark Continent. 

Ibadan is a city 120 miles from the sea-coast of that 
part of West Africa known as the Yoruba Country, 
which was formerly the old slave district of the Euro- 
pean Powers. The Yoruba People were at one time 
inhabitants of a kingdom more powerful than either 
Dahomey or Ashanti. At the beginning of the last 
century the Fulahs split up the kingdom. At present 
the Yoruba People comprise four tribes — known as 
Yoruba, Egba, Jebu, and Ilesha. These four tribes 
have a common descent, common language, and com- 
mon customs ; though each tribe has its own peculiar 
way of speaking and carrying out its customs. The 
King of the whole Yoruba People resides at Oyo. 
The other towns are governed by tributary kings, or 
chiefs called Bales. The Yoruba Country is situated 
six degrees above the equator. Its inhabitants are 
Negroes, and a few Arabs or Fulahs who have 
migrated from the East. The English have extended 


6 ASENDI, A WEST AERICaM TAEFv 

a railroad from the sea-coast town, Lagos to Ibadan. 
Farther one ninst travel by hammock. 

The caravan consisted of an English officer, Sergeant 
Williams, by name, his cook, his carriers, and his 
interpreter. The Sergeant’s companions were natives 
of that country. Sergeant Williams was dressed in a 
light brown duck suit with brass buttons and epaulets 
of braid. He wore a helmet to protect him from the 
African sun. His cook was a boy of about seventeen 
summers. He was black as ebony and had tribal 
marks cut deeply in his face, as is common among the 
Yorubas, every face is cut with deep gashes, the size, 
number and arrangement of which varying according 
to the tribe or family to which the person belongs. 
These marks disfigure faces which would be otherwise 
good-looking. They are tell-tale marks, which make 
it impossible for strangers to conceal their identity. A 
fugitive from justice rarely escapes being caught ou 
this account — for the gate-keepers of the towns through 
which he must pass recognize him by these marks. 
The gate-keepers are thoroughly posted in this lore 
and they know the nationality of everyone passing 
through their gates. 

David, for that was the name Sergeant Williams 
had given his cook, wore a white suit with brass but- 
tons — the gift of the Sergeant. Proud as the morn- 
ing sun when he rises in solitary glory eclipsing lesser 
lights David strutted along behind the Sergeant’s 


ASlvNDr. A WKST AFRICAN TAf.H 


7 


hammock. The carriers wore primitive trousers, cut 
to the knee. From the waist up they wore no cloth- 
ing. On their heads they supported the loads, some- 
times of one hundred pounds, which rested on turbans 
deftly made by twisting impromptu clothes into shape. 

The Sergeant was borne in a hammock swung from 
the heads of two men by means of bamboo poles 
and ropes. His trunk and boxes were carried by a 
dozen more men. Slowly the caravan proceeded. Not 
much could be heard by the Sergeant except the 
steady tramp of the hammock-men, as they bore him 
along. Not much could be seen by him except the 
glistening back of the front hammock-man, as drops 
of water chased each other down it, or the carriers in 
advance with the loads on their heads. For they were 
going through dense brush. The natives going and 
coming from town to town would occasionally stop to 
let them pass. But when a higher elevation was 
reached as they journeyed away from the coast, the 
brush was cleared away so that a broad path extended 
before them — allowing two caravans to pass each 
other. It was then that the Sergeant could see the 
natives in great variety. They passed his caravan 
unceasingly — in single file, each carrying a load on 
the head for everything is carried on the head by the 
natives of that country. There is no means of con- 
veyance besides that, except a few donkeys which 
some of the Fulahs own. The horses carry native 


8 


ASENDI, A WEST AERICAN TALl^ 


chiefs. There is naught else used for carrying except 
the backs of the women for their babes. 

The natives commonly passed the caravan as a si- 
lent, solemn host of human beings — like shadows in a 
dream — each one intent on his or her business. The 
women predominated as it is their work to bring the 
produce from the farms and to transact the marketing. 
This work is shared by the men slaves. One-third of 
the Yoruba People are slaves. Of those who passed 
the caravan of the Sergeant, some had loads of yams, 
or bundles of faggots, or chickens ; and every female 
almost had a babe tugging at her breasts. The women 
carry loads sometimes whose weight exceeds one hun- 
dred pounds. If a man should pass on the road with 
a light burden on his head or none at all — one might 
know he had wives who did the work for him, or else 
that he was the owner of slaves. 

The men wear the “shocoto,” a pair of baggy 
breeches reaching to the knee. Over the shoulders 
sometimes a cloth is thrown which falls to the knee. 
The quality of the cloth and the “shocoto” depends 
upon the rank of the wearer. Their legs are bare. 
Pairs of sandals, made of cows’ hides are used by 
many, especially in walking along the hard roads ; but 
the mass of the people go bare-footed. The men 
sometimes wear broad-rimmed straw hats of variegated 
colors, manufactured by the Natives. All the cloth- 
ing of both sex is made by the Natives of materials 


ASENDI, a west AFRICAN TALE 


9 


chiefly manufactured by themselves; sometimes bought 
of English traders. Sometimes the shoulder-robe of 
a man is replaced by a loose shirt falling over the 
“shocoto” to a little below the waist In the case of 
a king or chief the shirt extends to the ground and 
has over it a gorgeous shoulder-robe. The women 
leave their breasts, legs and arms usually bare. A 
cloth is wrapped around her waist and thighs in 
which she tucks her baby. Sometimes this cloth is 
pulled up to conceal the breasts, but ordinarily not. 
The men shave their faces and heads almost entirely. 
The women arrange their hair into a number of little 
braids which are so adjusted as to form different de- 
signs. Over the heads of the men are worn close-fit- 
ting caps or turbans. A couple of twists to a piece of 
cloth around her tresses form the head-dress of a 
woman. The children until they are eight years old 
wear no clothing ordinarily, except a string of beads 
around the belly, or neck or arms. Sometimes they 
dress like their elders. 

The Sergeant mused as he contemplated the queer 
sights. Occasionally his meditations were interrupted 
by noticing a beautiful bird alighting on a tall palm 
tree. Its colors were so handsome and varied, such as he 
had never seen before. The unique sights of the 
native huts among the tall grass diverted his eyes. 
These huts are of mud with a thatch of grass sup- 
ported on a bamboo pole. They stand about six feet 


TO ASKNDl, A WKST AFRICAN TAFF 

high. Here and there, one by one, dots the land- 
scape, but they are mostly to be found in numbers 
composing a town or village. 

At one such village the caravan arrived when the 
carriers stopped for “ chop ” (food), after they had 
crossed several shallow streams, where the Sergeant 
was obliged to lift his patent boots high, lest they be 
submerged. The men lifted the Sergeant’s hammock 
to the ground, and he alighted. 

It was a grief to Sergeant Williams to be forced to 
stop at these native villages. Nothing elevating to 
the senses was to be found in them: A herd of human 
beings, half naked — some all naked — chattering like 
magpies, some squatting on the ground, some standing, 
a hot sun beating down on the parched earth, no trees 
for shelter — was the substance of the place. 

“ David, get dinner ready and be quick about it ! ” 
The Sergeant’s voice was peremptory. 

“ Confound this cussed place ! The last trip I 

make up this country, or my name isn’t Williams ! 

“ He seated himself upon what was once the trunk of 
a live tree ; and took out his note-book. 

The boys meanwhile put up his tent. Slowly the 
time passed away. 

“ Saleph, tell David to bring the dinner — curse that 
boy !” An hour rolled by and then Sergeant Williams 
was seated on his camp chair in his tent with his 
folding table before him spread with faultless linen 


ASKNDI, A Vv'KvST AFRICAN TALK It 

and shining plate and glass — in great contrast to the 
dirt and squalor of heathendom without. 

“ Saleph, tell David, the next time he puts meat on 
the table that has been cooked twice the same way, 
lUl discharge him ! ” 

The Sergeant’s repast was soup, three courses of 
meat, and pudding the regulation dinner of the English 
in Africa. 

David had meanwhile come into the tent and seat- 
ing himseif on a stool near the Sergeant’s table — 
called down upon himself the wrath of the Sergeant, 
as he arose from the table. 

“ Get up, you nigger, or I’ll choke you, curse 
you ! ” 

So saying. Sergeant Williams grabbed his cook 
by the neck. “These niggers never know their 
place,” he muttered to himself, as he took out a cigar, 
while David, sad at heart, slank away out of sight. 

“ David ! ” The Sergeant’s voice was as if he had 
called his dog. Soon the faithful boy was back 
again. “ Take these boots and shine them, and bring 
me my smoking jacket.” 

Silently the boy obeyed. David was the most in- 
telligent of all the Sergeant’s boys, and the most ready 
to work ; so he used him more than the rest. 

“ David, get two fowls and pay threepence for both 
— you hear ? ” 

Poor David looked dismayed. How was he to get 


12 ASENDI, A WEST AFRICAN TALE 

the chickens for threepence, when the price was six- 
pence apiece ? He knew he must steal them or run 
the risk of flogging from the natives. Seeing no 
chance to quietly take off two, he began bargaining 
with a woman for two of her finest chickens. The 
woman demanded sixpence a piece. David said he 
must have them for threepence or the white man 
would shoot her. Frightened, she gave him the 
fowls. He threw threepence at her and moved away, 
amid the angry clamoring of the woman as she loudly 
told her neighbors of her loss. 

The caravan moved on. The Sergeant’s eyes were 
refreshed by the beautiful flowers growing near his 
path. As they advanced the scenery became more 
changeful. Here and there a mountain could be seen 
and many low hills rolled over the country. Not 
many trees gladdened the eyes except the palm-trees 
and the banana and cocoanut palm. It was the 
rainy season, so once in a while a shallow stream had 
to be crossed, which in the dry season deteriorated 
into stagnant pools, or else evaporated completely. 

The Sergeant was amused as he saw his carriers 
lift off bananas from the heads of passers-by, and he 
muttered to himself : “ The missionaries would call 
it ‘ stealing,’ but bless the devils, they only take what 
they ought to have for their hard day’s work.” 

His musings were interrupted by his head carrier 
pushing unscrupulously out of the way a poor old 


ASKNDI, A WKST AFRICAN TARH 


13 


man with a bundle of sticks on his head, landing the 
man on his back in the mud and his sticks in the 
bush. 

“ Ha ! ha ! ” roared Sergeant Williams. “ That’s 
the way to make a good time.” 

The carriers were chatting among themselves — a 
lot of gibberish to the Sergeant. Tired of it all he 
was glad when they arrived at Oyo, where they were 
to put up for the night. 


Chapter Two 


Asendi. 

“One little hut among the bushes, 

One that I love.” 

Among the thousands of native huts at Ogbonioso 
was the abode of Asendi. 

Ogbomoso is a town of two hundred thousand in- 
habitants, situated a one day’s journey, or thirty miles 
from Oyo — on the road towards the river Niger. 

Asendi was a boy about twelve years of age. The 
ages of people are not reckoned in the Yoruba coun- 
try. Asendi’s father was a farmer, and had five wives, 
all living with their children, in his house. The far- 
mers are the most numerous and important class. 
The farms extend for many miles around the city 
walls. They are merely small clearings in the tall 
grass and scrub growth of the country. Everyone 
can cultivate as much land as he pleases, and hold it 
as long as he cultivates it. He ploughs the field with 
a rude hand scythe. Some of the farms are very neat 
— the vegetables being planted in regular rows with 
a fence of bamboo sticks enclosing the whole. The 
cotton farms are a beautiful sight. 

The men, as a rule, work these farms. They are 
also builders, blacksmiths, iron-smelters, carpenters, 


ASKNDl, A WKST AFKICAN TALK 


15 


calabash carvers, traders, weavers, basket makers, hat 
and mat makers, barbers, tanners, tailors, workers in 
leather and morocco, producing saddles, shoes, sword 
and knife scabbards, quivers, pouches, satchels and 
bags of many sorts and sizes. The smelters reduce 
the iron ore and obtain from it a good steel. They 
make this into swords, knives, razors, hoes, bill-hooks, 
arrow-heads, axes, stirrups, carpenters’ and black- 
smiths’s tools, and other articles used for business 
purposes. 

The house where Asendi lived was like the ordinary 
native’s hut. These huts have a piazza around them, 
formed by the roof extending on all sides from the 
exterior of the walls. On the piazza the family mostly 
congregated. The interior of the house is portioned 
into several rooms used as dormitories or for storage. 
The rooms and piazza are on the ground floor. Within 
the hut are mats and cook-pots, oftentimes skins of 
wild animals. Sheep, goats, chickens and pigeons 
play about the house as welcome members 
of the family. Several such houses, in which different 
of these families live, are enclosed by a mud wall to 
which there is only one entrance, which is by a gate with 
double bars. This gate is usually closed at night. 
Such a combination of houses is called by the English 
a “compound.” The houses of a compound enclose a 
large space called a court. The towns are made up 
of numerous compounds scattered about with no refer- 


l6 ASKNDI, A WEST AFRICAN TATE 

eiice to order or plan. Narrow and crooked lanes run 
between the houses. 

Often Asendi would go with his mother to the farm 
and help her carry the loads home. On one such trip 
he met a missionary lady, Mrs. Jones, who asked his 
mother to let him come to work for her, and she 
would get his clothes and food for him. The mother, 
having three other children to provide for, as the 
wives must support themselves and children, was glad 
to put her boy in the care of such kind women as 
Mrs. Jones appeared to be. Mrs. Jones seeing the sad 
face of little Asendi, had been strangely attracted 
toward him. So Asendi left his native hut and went 
to live with Mrs. Jones at the Mission House. 

The houses of the white people in Africa are called 
“ bungalos ”. They are built with clay with embel- 
lishments of windows, and doors of European fashion. 
A sheet iron roof protects the inmates from the heat 
and storm. The bungalos are neatly plastered within. 
They are raised permanently from the ground by 
means of poles. The poles are frequently replaced by 
a foundation of clay, portioned into several apartments 
in which the servants of the white man live, while he 
lives solely on the floor above. 

The Mission House at Ogbomoso was situated on 
the outskirts of the town upon a high expanse of 
country. It commanded a clear view of the country 
around for many miles. Many acres of land surrounded 


ASENUI, A WKST AFRICAN TALK 


1/ 


the house, which had been cultivated in European 
fashion — growing rose bushes, orange trees, lemon 
trees, magnolia bushes, and flowers and fruits in great 
profusion. 

There were four rooms : a dining-room, a kitchen, 
and two-bed rooms, in that part of the house where 
the white people lived. Mrs. Jones put Asendi in one 
of the basement rooms. She made him a little suit of 
blue. She taught him to read and to write ; to wait 
on table, and to scrub floors ; to wash dishes and 
make beds. She taught him about Jesus and His love 
for poor black Asendi. She asked him to give him- 
self to God and serve Him. 

On his knees Asendi went and gave himself to God. 
The black face shown with a new light. Of all her 
boys Asendi was the best. He was so conscientious that 
her money was left in his care — so thoughtful that she 
need tell him but once all the intricacies of English 
house-keeping, and Asendi would remember ; so gen- 
tle that a baby could be entrusted to him ; so indus- 
trious that work was play to him ; so good that the 
Bible and God were all his delight. Mrs. Jones taught 
a school of native children — boys and girls. The 
Yorubas neither read nor write. There is a symboli- 
cal language, by means of which one chief communi- 
cates with another. Cowries, calabashes, mats, feathers, 
and spice are used in the formation of these primitive 
letters. 


l8 ASENDI, A WEST AFRICAN TAEE 

Among the little girls of Mrs Jones’ school was one 
she called Susan. She was about eleven years of age 
when Mrs. Jones brought her to school. Beautifully 
shaped was Susan. Among her own people she was 
regarded as a pretty child indeed. She would have 
formed a model for an artist’s brush — so gracefully 
was she formed. Asendi loved Susan. Of all the girls she 
was the prettiest, the smartest and the best. Asendi and 
Susan would together carry water for Mrs. Jones. 
Together would they go to church — work together 
about the house. Susan lived with her parents, who 
were poor. She came only to Mrs. Jones in the day 
time. 

“ Susan, I’m glad I came to the Mission, aren’t you?” 

“ Beni ” (Yes,) she replied. 

“I’m glad Missus came to tell us about Jesus. 
I thought no one loved little Asendi before. I used 
to go out to look at the moon, and then go home feel- 
ing so unhappy. I couldn’t tell why. Now I know. 
God meant us to live like Missus and not like mother. 
I always want to stay with Missus, don’t you ? ” 

“ Beni,” the maiden replied. 

“Asendi, go sit wdth the Missus until I come back. 
Missus has the fever*” The speaker was Mr. Jones. 
Mrs. Jones had been sitting on the piazza but feeling 
uncomfortable had gone to bed. In an hour her tem- 
perature had gone up to one hundred and one degrees. 

Asendi went to Mrs. Jones’ room, entering on tip- 


ASENDl, A WEST AFRICAN TALE 


9 


toe. “ Missus sick ? ” he enquired in a hushed voice. 

“ Yes, Asendi, wet this cloth for me and turn my 
pillow.” Quietly Asendi did as he was told. Then 
he sat like a stone by Mrs. Jones’ bed. 

Asendi I’m afraid I shall have to leave you. 
Master says I must go to England. I’m getting the 
fever so often that I am too weak to do anything, and 
if I stay here I shall soon die.” 

•• No, ]\Iissus, don’t leave Asendi. You my mother, — 
Massa is my father. I love you.” 

“ Yes, Asendi, Missus does not want to leave Asendi; 
but God does not want Missus to throw her life away. 
To stay means death. I am very weak. I could not 
live longer here. God will send some one else to 
Asendi.” 

“Asendi go with Missus? ” he coaxed. 

“ No, Asendi, Master has no home to take Asendi 
to, or we would gladly take you with us.” 

“ Tears came to Asendi’s eyes, but he said nothing. 

At that moment Rev. Jones came into the room 
with a letter in his hand. “ From the board, Mary, 
they’re sending Brother Brown and wife to the sta- 
tion, so you see the way is open for us to leave. As 
soon as you are well of this attack we start for 
England.” 

“ All right, Edward,” sighed Mrs. Jones as she rest- 
lessly turned on her pillow. 


Chapter Three 


Asendi and David 


In a week Rev. and Mrs. Jones were on their way 
to England. Rev. and Mrs. Brown had not arrived in 
time to see them depart, so the school was broken up, 
and the children sent to their homes. 

It was at that time that Sergeant Williams arrived 
a Ogbomoso from Oyo. It was the Sergeant’s inten- 
tion to penetrate to the Niger River. He had stayed 
a short while at Oyo, stationing a few police there. 
The African police employed by the English govern- 
ment are transported from the West Indies. They are 
found to be of more service than the white man in 
Africa, being themselves negroes. 

The sergeant stayed one night only at Ogbomoso. 
As that was David’s native town, he took an oppor- 
tunity to see his friends. He saw Asendi who told 
him of the wonderful missionaries who lived like 
angel’s; how happy he had been with them; and how 
God loved the black people as much as the white. 
David looked in wonder. He felt a longing to see a 
missionary. He had heard from the Sergeant that 
they were a lot of crazy people who wanted to make 
everybody miserable. 


ASENDt, A WDST AFRICAN TAL^ 


21 


“ And don’t they eat peoples’ brains, Asendi ! ” 

“ No. They won’t even eat dead horses, Asendi 
replied. 

“ Well, I heard they eat the brains of dead people,” 
David remarked. 

“ They are good people. I wanted to eat a deer, 
which had died — but Missus was not quite sure if she 
ought give it to me.” 

‘‘ Why not? ” interrupted David. 

“ She was afraid I would get sick. When I told her 
I always ate dead animals, she gave to me, as I was 
used to it.” 

“ Well, good-bye, Asendi, perhaps some day I’ll 
come to see the other Missus that you say is coming. 
She may not come, so I’ll stay with the Sergeant. 
The missionaries only pay a shilling every week to 
go to school. I get twelve shilling every noon to 
cook for the Sergeant.” They parted, Asendi to go 
to his heathen home — David to his cruel master. 

The next day at sunrise the Sergeant’s caravan 
moved on. Thirty miles they traveled that day. At 
night the Sergeant had a high fever. He was first 
taken with a chill, which was followed with a rise of 
temperature. Rapidly the mercury in his clinical 
thermometer went up towards the danger-mark. 
Ransacking with anxiety his medicine case, and dose 
after dose of his medicine failing, he shouted to David 
in a hoarse voice : 


22 A SEND I, A WEST AFRICAN TALE 

“ David, you dog, pray for me ! ” 

Poor David understood English a little, but he 
never heard tlie word “ pray ” before. He did not 
know what it all meant. 

“ Damn me, I must die out in this cussed country. 
What will mother say when she hears that her Girard 

is Ugh ! the thought stifles me. I can’t die ! 

I can’t die ! ” he screamed, sitting up in bed. Sud- 
denly he became quiet and fell back on his pillow. 
David, thinking he fell asleep, went quietly out of 
the tent. An hour went by. David came again 
into the tent, thinking it strange he had not been 
sent for. The Sergeant lay in the same position. 
David touched his hand — cold as ice. The Sergeant 
was dead. 


Chapter Four. 


Rev. and Mrs. Brown — Missionaries. 


“ So you’re going as missionaries to that forsaken 
land ! Aren’t you afraid of the fever and those 
naked savages ?” The speaker was a godless trader 
who addressed Mrs. Brown thus. They were on the 
steamboat “ Jebba,” bound from England to the west 
coast of Africa. Rev. and Mrs. Brown were bound 
for Lagos. Mrs. Brown was the only lady on the 
boat. They were a young newly married couple 
going on their wedding trip to Africa, and had just 
been appointed by the Board of Missions. Mrs. 
Brown was a beautiful young lady, while her hus- 
band was a fine specimen of manly strength. 

“No, indeed, I’m not. If God sends us, he will 
take care of tis,” Mrs. Brown replied. 

“ Ha, ha ! you think so. Others thought so, too, 
but they died or were killed. Why, only three years 
ago a dozen missionaries, with their wives and their 
children, were killed by those beastly savages.” 

“ Well, Mr. Forsythe,” Mrs. Brown said, “ we are 
not afraid to die. We believe we shall live until our 
work is over, and that nothing can kill us until then.” 

“That’s right, believe what your mother taught 


^4 


ASENDI, A WEST AFRICAN TAEE 


you. My mother taught me such stuff, too ; but I 
know better than to believe all I’m told now. Those 
niggers were never meant to associate with white 
people. They have no souls. Say, Mrs. Brown, can 
you tell me why their skins are black and ours white, 
if we all came from Adam and Eve?” 

“ Mr. Forsythe, I see various reasons. Perhaps 
God cursed the people for their sins. Perhaps it was 
meant as a wise provision for them to have black 
skins, in order to keep them well — as a black skin 
will absorb the intense heat of their bodies. I do not 
know the reason, but I can accept many things be- 
cause God says it.” 

“ How do you know ‘ God says it ’ ?” queried Mr. 
Forsythe. You go on the assumption that the Bible 
is true. I don’t think the Bible is true — but simply 
an allegory.” 

“ Mr. Forsythe, if you thought it was true, you 
would be a more reasonable man than to claim to be 
an Atheist, when all Nature teaches us there is a God 
—even the heathen, to whom we are going, believe 
that,” Mrs. Brown rejoined. 

“ No, Mrs. Brown, he’s no Atheist,” chimed in a 
young banker, “ he says he is — but there’s no such a 
thing as an Atheist.” 

The Rev. and Mrs. Brown went to their cabin. 
Rev. Brown felt seasick, so he lay in his berth dis- 
consolate looking. 


ASENDI, A WEST AFRICAN TALE 


25 


“ Sweetheart, you look so downhearted ; cheer up. 
I’ll make up a song on you, shall I ? ” His wife had 
her guitar with her, and for amusement she attempted 
to compose a love song about her husband. 

“ Let me see, — how shall I begin ? ” she thought a 
moment : 





“ Eyes like the deep blue sea, 
Smiling so sweetly at me. ’ ’ 


“ That’s all right, now what next — oh, I have it : — 


“ What a bliss it is to know, 
They are his who loves me so. ’ ’ 


“ Now. for the chorus : 

“ ’Tis the one above all others that I love. 

So noble, true, as are the stars above . 

He shines for me with a pure and steady light. 

And he makes my pathway bright. ’ ’ 

Her husband smiled. “ That’s right, John chase 
the clouds away, now for the second verse.” She 
began : 


“A smile like the roses in June, 
Setting my soul all in tune. 

Since Cupid made his arrows dart 
Into my wounded heart.” 

Chorus : 


Third verse : 


26 


ASENDI, a west AFRICAN TAI.E 


“A heart that is beating for me, 

As tireless as waves of the sea ; 

And the song it ever tries to tell 
Is, ’Darling I love you well ! ” 

By the time Mrs. Brown had composed her song, 
her husband was beaming with delight. “ That’s all 
right, dearest,” he said. The bugle for dinner blew 
and they ascended to the dining saloon, Mr. Brown 
having sufficiently recovered from his sea-sickness. 

“ Gentlemen, I hope you’ll attend the services to- 
morrow ?” Mrs. Brown remarked at the dinner-table. 

“ Not I, let others do as they please, but I want you 
to let me alone ! ” Mr. Forsythe was very 
angr}'. Mrs. Brown blushed, as she looked at the 
rest. 

“ No sermons for me,” said Mr. Young, “ I’ve found 
out by experience that missionaries are only in it for 
the money they get.” 

Mrs. Brown said nothing. 

“ You tell me to get converted,” Mr. Forsythe 
added, “ how can I with a skeleton in the closet ?” 

“ Bring your skeleton along with you, Forsythe,” 
chimed in the banker. 

The men were angry that a service was to be held 
on board the vessel, the chief steward told the mission- 
aries. Nevertheless the Browns had it. Some came 
to the meeting ; some stayed away. Mr. Forsythe 


ASKNDI, A WKST AFRICAN TALF 


27 


stayed away. The next day he remarked to Mrs. 
Brown, “ Well, I admire your pluck. That’s the first 
time a service has been held on this boat since I’ve 
been coming down the coast. We’ve had lots of mis- 
sionaries but not one ventured to hold a meeting, the 
Sissies ! ” 


Chapter Five. 


Some Natives. 


Rev. and Mrs. Brown arrived at Ogbomoso to take 
charge of the mission station there. Asendi hearing 
of their arrival, came to work for Mrs. Brown. David 
applied as cook and was accepted. Mr. Brown’s 
household consisted of himself and wife, David, 
Asendi, and two other boys, one of which was the 
house-boy. He used all the boys to work about the 
house and sent them all to the mission school. To 
David he paid twelve shilling a month for cooking 
— the rest he gave a shilling a week to buy themselves 
food. That was abundant means for the boys, as a 
man’s pay is generally sixpence a day in the Yoruba 
Country — and a woman’s, threepence. Mrs. Brown 
made all the clothing for the boys. 

“ David, take this shilling, and buy a basket of 
cowries !” The speaker was Mrs. Brown, who had 
arisen from the breakfast table. 

The cowrie is a small shell which is the native cur- 
rency of that country. The English threepence, six- 
pence, and shilling are also in use by the natives. The 
English gold is used on the coast — but not far into the 
interior of the Dark Continent. As it takes looo 


ASKNDI, A WEST AFRICAN TAEE 


29 


cowries to make a threepence and many articles of 
trade cost less than a threepence, the cowries are much 
in demand. 

“ Oh ! Missus,” said David, stammering and hesi- 
tating, as he looked at the shilling, “ I’m afraid the 
people won’t take it.” 

“ Why ? David,” asked his mistress. 

“ Because they think it no good with this head on,” 
the cook replied. 

“ What do you mean, David, this is a good shilling 
— it has one of the old Queens’ heads on it, Queen 
Anne’s,” Mrs. Brown remarked. 

“ They no think good,” David went on, “ they want 
new Queen’s head on.” 

“ One like this, David ?” Mrs. Brown said, showing 
him a shilling with Victoria’s head on it. 

“ Yess’m,” David answered. 

“ All right take this one,” his mistress acquiesced 
and laughed to herself as David went confidently away 
with the right shilling. 

“ E’kabe,” (welcome), “ E’kare,” (Good morning), 
“ E’kunie,” (salute you for being at home), the speak- 
ers were two native women, who entered the mission- 
house to salute Mrs. Brown, who sat in the dining- 
room reading. 

“E’kabe, O’kujoko (sit down), the missionary re- 
sponded. That was the extent of Mrs. Brown’s 


30 


ASKNDI, A WKST AFRICAN TALE 


knowledge of the Yoruba language, so she had noth- 
ing more to say to her callers. 

They did not understand English. They found 
their hostess could not understand Yoruba, so they had 
nothing more to say either. The callers and hostess 
sat and looked at each other for an hour, occasionally 
smiling to relieve the monotony. At last, to Mrs. 
Brown’s great relief, the women rose to go, saying 
“ 0’dabo,”(Good-bye), as they disappeared. 

“ Beatrice, look at David,” Mr. Brown said to his 
wife as she joined him on the piazza, “ here he conies 
with the pink’ shirt on I gave him. He wears it in 
the latest fashion.” 

David was approaching with the cowries. The 
part of the shirt which was meant to be tucked under 
the shocoto, he had falling over it in full view of 
everyone and the sport of the African breezes. 

“ John, I’ll die with laughing at these natives,” 
Mrs. Brown remarked to her husband, “ did you see 
the man in church the other day with a pink bed- 
spread thrown over his shoulders as a mantle ? ” 

“ Yes, anything from civilization pleases them,” her 
husband replied. 

“ Missus sell me your cook-book ? The suppliant 
was one of the training school young men whom 
•Rev. Brown taught. Besides the school for the chil- 
dren he taught a class of young men who were desir- 
ous to be preachers. These young men were anxious 


ASENDI, A WEST AFRICA X TALE 


31 


exceedingly to acquire knowledge. The young man 
supplicating Mrs. Brown for her cook-book had some 
time previously asked her to teach him rhetoric, as 
Mr. Brown’s time was too much occupied. She 
taught him awhile, but both becoming sick she con- 
cluded that the African climate was not conducive to 
the story of rhetoric. 

‘‘ Want my cook-book, Isaiah ? ” Mrs. Brown asked, 
amazed. “No, I need that myself, I only have one.” 

Isaiah smiled and bowed respectfully as he departed. 
He was a tall, stateh^ young man, a model of manly 
beauty in physique. The Yorubas are a well-devel- 
oped race physically. 

“ I wonder what that boy will want to learn next ? ” 
Mrs. Brown said to her husband. “ Well I must go 
to work. I have lots of sewing to do to-day.” So 
saying Mrs. Brown returned to the dining-room which 
table she used as a sewing-table. 

She had not been seated long when some natives 
came in. They were amused at the thimble and scissors 
she was using. The sight of the clock on the wall at- 
tracted their attention curiously. x\mong others two 
women came in to sell their wares. 

These native traders walk to Ibadan — the London 
of negro-land — and procuring their wares from English 
traders return to the inland towns and sell at a large 
profit. They always ask twice as much as they are 
willing to take. They are shrewd bargainers. They 


32 


ASKNDI, A WKST AFRICAN TALE 


also sell native articles. They showed — Mrs. Brown a 
beautiful native cloth — such as worn by the women — 
they offered it to her for twelve shilling. These cloths 
are two yards long and one yard wide. Sometimes 
they are a mixture of white and blue cotton, but gen- 
erally are all blue. The women gather the cotton, 
spin it and with a dye which they make from the 
Indigo tree, they dye it. They weave it into a cloth 
on primitive looms. Mrs. Brown was desirous to 
have one of these cloths to take to America as a 
souvenir. She knew the price they usually set was 
eight shilling. She told the woman she would give 
her eight shilling for it. 

“ No twelve shilling,” said the woman. 

“ I will not give more than eight shilling for it, 
“ Mrs. Brown protested.” 

The merchant folded the cloth preparatory to 
taking her departure. Mrs. Brown, going to her 
room, put eight shilling into her hand, then returned 
to the piazza to which the woman had gone. 

“ Twelve shilling,” the woman said, as a final 
sally. 

“ No,” Mrs. Brown shook her head, “ eight shil- 
ling.” 

The woman went to the steps as if ready to de- 
scend — then threw the cloth at Mrs. Brown. 

Mrs. Brown handed her the eight shilling and 
they both smiled. 







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r <.' 5 . 









Chapter Six. 

Mrs. Brown 


She was sick with the African fever. It was the 
fifth attack in the six months since she had landed 
there. Each attack left her weaker, and the oftener 
she had the fever, the harder it was to bring her tem- 
perature down. Her husband was almost frantic as 
dose after dose of his medicine failed. Her temper- 
ature continued to rise. Going into the room where 
his wife lay, he threw the medicine bottle out of his 
hand onto the floor, and, sobbing, fell across her bed. 

“What’s the matter, my darling?” bis wife asked, 
as she stroked his head. 

“ Oh, I don’t know what to do for you,” he an- 
swered, despairingly. 

“ Never mind, my pet. God can cure me if our 
medicine fail, can’t He, dearest ? ” the wife rejoined. 

“ Yes,” her husband answered. 

“ Well, then, let us pray to Him,” Mrs. Brown re- 
joined. 

Little Asendi, sitting beside his mistress’ bed, fan- 
ning the feverish brow, said in a low voice, as he 
raised his black hand to heaven “ Mast’r trust God — 
Mast’r Jones didn’t cry when Missus Jones was sick. 


34 


ASI^NDI, A >VKST Al'KICAN TAUv 


Mast’r trust God. God will make Missus well.” 
Then going upon his knees he began silently to pray. 
Rev. Brown fell on his knees. Mrs. Brown began : 
“ Dear Father, if it please thee, make me well. Re- 
buke this fever and let it soon go down. For Jesus’ 
sake. Amen.” 

“Amen,” said Mr. Brown and little Asendi. Softly 
Asendi left the room. Mr. Brown seated himself by 
his wife’s bedside. “ Dear love, do you feel better?” 
he asked. 

“ Not just yet, sweetheart, but I believe God will 
cure me.” 

“Oh, darling, I could not live without you. Rife 
would be misery. We are just made for each other, 
and I believe in heaven we shall be together too, 
don’t you ? ” Mr. Brown asked his wife, as he stroked 
her hot forehead. 

“ Yes, sweetheart, I do. I want to be with you, 
my treasure. I believe God will give us to each other 
in heaven too,” his wife replied. 

“ I believe when the Rord said there was no marry- 
ing and no giving in marriage in heaven. He meant 
there would be no sin there and so need of any con- 
tract. But for two souls to be joined together in 
love would suit heaven as well as earth,” her husband 
rejoined. 

That night the fever took a turn. Slowly but 


ASKNDl, A WKST AFRICAN TAIJ; 


v35 


steadily the temperature went down. By morning 
Mrs. Brown was normal. 

“ Praise the Lord ! ” shouted Mr. Brown, as he 
took the thermometer out of his wife’s month. 

A soft knock was heard at the door. Asendi and 
David were there. 

“ How’s Missus ? ” they asked. 

“ Better this morning, boys,” their master replied ; 
then, continuing in a low voice, he said to David : 
“ I want a chicken to-day. Here’s sixpence. Get it 
as quickly as yon can.” 

David demurred. “ The people not killing meat 
to-day, sail,” he said. 

“ How’s that, David.” 

“The English officers are in town, sah, and then 
people hide their chickens and sheep,” he replied. 
He went on then to explain to Mr. Brown how the 
officers rob the poor people by paying but half the 
price. Mr. Brown reflected on the avarice of these 
officers. Receiving a large salary and ten shilling 
extra for each day they spend in the “ bush,” as the 
interior of the country is called, they rob the poor 
natives. 

“ The English government pays its men well for 
their services here in Africa,” the missionary mused, 
as he sought his wife’s bedside. “ What must be the 
reward of the King of Kings to His servants, when 
He comes in His kingdom ! ” 


ASKNDI, A WKST AFRICAN TALE 


3 ^> 


In a few days Mrs. Brown was well enough to be at 
her usual duties but work was hard for her. She 
could scarcely drag herself around. Every day her 
husband would take her for a ride. On one of their 
drives, they came to a handsome marble monument, 
erected by some white man. Driving close to it they 
saw the inscription : 

“ Sacred to the memory of Sergeant Williams — 
who died in her Majesty’s service at Ogbomoso — June 
20 — 1891.” 

“I’m glad,” said Mr. Brown as his arm stole around 
his wife’s waist and he whispered to her, our King 
has power over the grave and would not let you die 
just yet in His service. Praise His Name ! ” 


Chapter Seven 


The Bale 


It was the dry hot season. From November to 
March is the dry season. The rest of the year com- 
prises the rainy season. Scarcely any rain falls dur- 
ing those months of drought. The weather is hot all 
the year, but the heat is rendered so much more op- 
pressive through the absence of water. Rain is not 
seen for months. The water used by the white 
people comes from stagnant pools out of which the 
natives drink and wash themselves. It is carried to 
the bungalo in earthen jars. The women charge for 
one load enough cowries to equal an English half- 
penny. The water must be boiled and filtered before 
fit for drinking. Vegetables which are scarce all the 
year in the Yoruba country are doubly so in the dry 
season. The white man can scarcely live on African 
produce exclusively. His supplies come from Eng- 
land. It takes three months from the time of order- 
ing for a grocery order to come from England. The 
express charges for such an order are 50 per cent. It 
makes marketing tedious and expensive. 

The native food is cheap : eggs ; four cents per 
dozen. ; milk, two cents per quart ; chicken, twelve 


38 


ASeNDF, A WI^ST Al'RICAN TAIJv 


cents apiece; leg o’ mutton, twelve cents for the 
whole. There are fine herds of cattle to be seen graz- 
ing on the African hills; but they are not slaughtered 
for food. The animals eaten are sheep, goats, deer, 
chickens and pigeons. Duck is used sometimes. 

Rev. and Mrs. Brown had as their guests another 
missionary and wife who were stationed at Oyo. 
Having been so long without seeing a white 
face, they were overjoyed to ‘receive these visit- 
ors from Oyo. The sight of a white woman did Mrs. 
Brown as much good as medicine. She stepped 
about the house livelier than usual. 

One evening at supper, Mr. Johnson, their guest, 
remarked that it was strange that rain was withheld 
when it was so much needed. 

“ Why don’t you pray for rain, Mr. Johnson. You 
believe in prayer,” Mrs. Brown remarked. 

“ Oh, I don’t believe God puts aside the laws of 
Nature to answer prayers,” Mr. Johnson replied. 

“ Then you believe,” continued Mrs. Brown, “ that 
it is an unchangeable law of Nature for this part of 
the earth to be dry at this time? ” 

“ I certainly do,” her guest answered. 

“ Well, I believe,” went on his hostess, “ That, as 
God made the laws. He can change them at will, and 
that He would change them in answer to prayers of His 
people. For my part, Mr. Johnson, I’ve been praying 


ASKNDI, A WKST AFRICAN TAFK 


39 


for rain to come soon, for I feel my health depends on 
it.” 

“ Ha ! Ha ! Mrs. Brown, I see you are fanatical,” her 
guest remarked. 

“ Not at all, but I believe in a great God who hears 
prayer,” Mrs. Brown rejoined. 

“ Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! ” laughed Mr. Johnson, “I wish 
it might be as you say.” At that moment a fierce wind 
shook the house. The windows rattled. The table- 
cover was blown awry. Dust came in at the door. 

“ Why I believe a shower is coming,” said Rev. 
Brown as he arose from the table. Before he had 
reached the piazza the patter of rain upon the roof 
convinced them all that his statement was true. It 
soon came down in torrents. The thunder rolled and 
the lightning flashed. It was one of the great hurri- 
canes so common during the rainy season in Africa. 

“ Well,” drawled Mr. Johnson, “ this is certainly re- 
freshing ; I guess you were right after all Mrs. Brown.” 

“ Look here, Johnson, there’s a fire ! I declare if 
the village isn’t on fire ! Beatrice, you’ll excuse me 
if I go to see it won’t you ? Come on Johnson ! ” cal- 
led Mr. Brown from the piazza. 

The two men went to view the catastrophe. Sev- 
eral mud huts had their roofs burned off, and a nnni- 
ber of grass houses were destroyed. 


40 


ASKNDI^ A WliST AFRICAN TALK 


Many families were homeless. As the whole 
community seems to be one large family — owing 
to the practice of polygamy — the afflicted ones 
soon found shelter. The African is a hospitable 
creature. The white stranger is invited to 
take shelter and presented with a chicken or other 
gift. The native walking from town to town is 
granted food for the asking. The missionaries found 
out the cause of the fire. It was not the lightning, 
but the Bal^ the chief magistrate of the town. The 
Bal^ is inferior to the king in name only — in power 
he is superior. The Bale receives an increase to his 
bag of cowries every time a fire occurs in the town. 
The afflicted families must bring him the cowries. 
He sets men to work to create the fires — then his vic- 
tims must pay the prescribed fines. 

“ The wretch !” muttered Mr. Brown. “ I’m going 
to see the Bale some day. I won’t dare accuse him 
of this or onr lives won’t be safe, but I’ll try to per- 
suade him to do good to these poor people.” 

Accordingly one day after the fire, and Mr. Johnson 
left for Oyo — the missionary went to see the Bal^ of 
Ogbomoso. Leaving his horse and carriage at the 
front gate with the horse-boy, he entered the Bale’s 
compound. The Bale’s grounds covered many acres. 
As he had three wives he needed many houses, to 
shelter them ; consequently the whole compound con- 
sisted of houses owned by the Bale. 


asendi, a west aerican taeE 4t 

Mr. Brown was shown to the one in which the 
Bale was. Seated on a mat surrounded by scores of 
eunichs and retainers was the Bal^, dressed in his 
gorgeous velvet robes. Numbers of men and women, 
and children moved about the courtyard and surround- 
ing huts together with sheep, goats, chickens and dogs, 
while gaily caparisoned horses pranced in the court- 
yard. Within the Bale’s hut were skins of wild ani- 
mals, mats, and among other furnishings was a string, 
whereon were tied the bones of former kings and 
Bale’s of Ogbomoso. The wooden door swinging on 
hinges in European fashion, was carved to represent 
many idols. 

“ E’kabe, E’kabe” the Bale saluted Mr. Brown. 

“ O’kujoko,” (salute for sitting) Mr. Brown saluted 
the Bal^. 

The missionary praised the beautiful horses, spoke 
of the numerous friends the chief had about him, con- 
gratulated him on his health, and asked him if one of 
the women standing just outside the door was his wife. 
The men roared ! The word for wife and monkey are 
similar, a change in the accent only differentiating them. 
Mr. Brown put the accent for monkey on the word 
which he meant for wife. The interpreter explained 
his mistake. Then the missionary laughed too. Mr. 
Brown usually stretched his mouth from ear to ear 
when he laughed, showing his pearly teeth. One 
tooth however was of gold. It attracted the Bale’s 


42 


ASENDT, A WEST AFRICAN TAEE 


curiosity, as he had never seen one before. He admired 
it audibly, but his admiration was somewhat checked 
as he asked his visitor if he could chew bones with it. 
Mr. Brown not being in the habit of chewing bones 
did not know. He said he thought one might chew 
bones with it. The Bal^ remarked he heard America 
was a good fighting nation. Mr. Brown smiled an^ 
told him of the great Enemy all had to fight. The 
Bal^ listened attentively. Mr. Brown arose to go. The 
chief presented him with a chicken. The missionary 
filled with gratitude remarked, perhaps thoughtlessly, 
“ When I go to America I will send you something.” 

The Bal^ evidently had some knowledge of human 
nature when he answered, “May God help you to do 
so!” 

He and his retinue followed the white man to his 
carriage. Mr. Brown asked him if he would like to 
ride along with him. But the Bal^ was afraid, so he 
refused. His interest in the carriage which was a 
novelty to him was hindered by the people of the town 
surrounding him and prostrating themselves on the 
ground before him. He forgot all else but the fact 
that he was the Bale. 


Chapter Eight, 


More Natives. 


“ Missus, two women here, who want to buy cans,” 
David said to Mrs. Brown one morning. 

“ All right, David I’ll be there.” 

The women had been attracted by the empty vege- 
table cans lying on the piazza near the kitchen. Mrs. 
Brown had been about to throw them away. Seeing 
she could make some money out of them she asked 
what they would give for them. They offered her a 
load of wood for a can. A load of wood sells for three- 
pence and lasts for three days. The missionaries used 
wood exclusively for their fires, having no coal. Rev. 
Brown’s salary had been delayed. As he had only a 
few shillings, he and his wife were glad to make 
what money they could. So Mrs. Brown sold the 
women six cans. She then said to David, “ Don’t 
throw these cans away, I want all of them.” 

“ Yes’m,” answered the boy. 

“ Beatrice, I’ll hitch up, if you’ll go to market 
with me,” Mr. Brown asked his wife. 

“ Yes, John, I feel like driving. This monotony 
kills me. I always feel better after seeing the people,” 
his wife replied. 


44 


ASKNDI, a WKST AFRICAN TALF 


“ Beatrice, here we are eight thousand miles away 
from home, the only white people in a town of two 
hundred thousand inhabitants, and only twenty shil- 
ling for food. Pretty tight pinch, isn’t it ? ” 

“ You forget one item, John,” remarked his wife. 

“ What is it?” he asked. 

“ The Everlasting Arms of the One who promised 
to supply the needs of those who trust Him,” his 
wife answered. 

“Yes, if it wasn’t for that, I should tremble in my 
shoes. I believe my hair would stand on end, her 
husband remarked.” Then he continued: “There’s 
no way of making money here. These people are so 
poor and do all their work that it is impossible to 
create a demand for anything we can supply, except 
from the operators and those few who have money. 
I went to see Raki this morning. He gets five 
pounds a month from the English government. 
He is considered rich among the natives. I sold him 
some clothes. I made some shrewd bargains with 
him. He said I must have been a clerk at Wana- 
maker’s. Ha ! ha ! These natives are so eager for 
anything from civilization. It’s amusing what large 
words they like to use. The larger the word, the 
better it suits them, it seems. Raki showed me a 
letter he had written to a missionary whom he had 
asked to buy something for him in England. It was 
an answer to the missionary’s letter telling Raki he 


ASKNDI, A WKST AFRICAN TAClC 


45 


was unable to get the article after going from shop 
to shop in England. Raki asked me if his letter was 
all right. It read thus : “ Sorry you had such a 
diabolical humbug trouble.” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ” laughed Mrs. Brown. “ did you tell 
him his letter was all right,” she asked her husband. 

“I told him he better put ‘so great trouble.’ 
When I wanted him to buy one of my books, he 
said ‘ it was too bombastically dear.’ ” 

“ Ha ! ha ! oh, John, don’t ! ” exclaimed his wife, 
“ you’ll kill me with laughing. Ha ! ha ! ” 

“ Only one more, dear. Listen! When I saluted 
Raki, asking how his health was, he said, ‘ I am of 
exhuberant health ’ 1” went on her husband. 

“ Oh, John, I’ll get well fast if you tell me such 
things very often,” Mrs. Brown remarked. 

“ I wish you would, dearest,” her husband replied, 
“ if it’s going to make my darling well I am exhuber- 
antly glad that they use so bombastically, such dia- 
bolical humbug words,” he continued. 

“ Ha ! ha 1 ha 1 ha !” laughed Mrs. Brown, “ha, ha!” 

They passed, at that moment, an old blind woman 
sitting by the roadside, with a huge devil idol in 
front of her. The people passing threw cowries to it. 

“ See that tree with a string tied to it ? ” Mr. Brown 
asked his wife. 

“ Yes,” she replied. 

“ That tree,” continued her husband, “ is sacred. 


46 


ASKNDJ, A VVKST AFRICAN TAlAv 


They worship it. See the lot of chicken feathers be- 
neath it. They think some Ood is in the tree.” 

“ Horrible,” ejaculated Mrs. Brown. “ And to 
think they can believe that Shango, once a man, 
could be the god of thunder.” 

“ I was told to-day of a huge snake that made its 
appearance, and the natives hastened to worship it,” 
Mr. Brown remarked. 

“ What is this parade for, I wonder ? ” asked Mrs. 
Brown, as a beating of drums was heard, and men and 
boys fantastically clad in clothes of all colors, came 
jumping and dancing along uttering stern sentences 
in false tones of voice. Some of the men had sticks 
or clubs with which they beat any one who didn’t 
run away from the Bgungun (return of bones). If 
any one came into bodily contact with this supposed 
bundle of bones, he or she is to be put to death. 
People are very careful not to get too near. After the 
day’s sport a large feast is spread and then the priests 
divide the spoil. This feast is connected with the 
worship of departed men, for the Yoruba People wor- 
ship their ancestors. 

The missionaries arrived at the market. There is a 
large open space in Ogbomoso surrounded by stately 
oak trees. The people use this as their market-place. 
There, thousands of natives congregate morning and 
evening to transact their business. 


ASKNDI, A WKST AFRICAN TALK 47 

Mr. Brown alighted from his carriage, and soon a 
crowd was around them. 

“ You’re the observed of all observers, Beatrice,” said 
her husband. 

No, they came to see you, John,” laughingly re- 
joined his wife. 

It was embarrassing to have so many witnesses to 
one’s purchases, but the missionaries made the best of 
it as their hearts were full of love to those poor ignor- 
ant souls. Among the things for sale at the market- 
place were Indian corn, Guinea corn. West India 
yams, two kinds sweet potatoes, cassada, rice, onions, 
beans, arrow-root, ochre, peppers, ginger, peanuts, 
sugar-cane, tobacco, cotton, calabashes. These cala- 
bashes grow so large sometimes that they are used as 
ferryboats by the natives. The fruits were : oranges, 
limes, bananas, plantains, soursops, paw-paws, pine- 
apples, guaras, mangoes, tamarinds, cocoanuts and 
bread-fruit. Then there were gaily colored glass 
beads and cloth, and dishes from England ; native 
cloths, earthen pots made by the women and used in 
their household work ; leather goods; glass bracelets ; 
mats and baskets woven by the clever Housa tribe (a 
tribe nearer the Niger River.) 

“ I want 100 cowries worth of beans (about a pint)”. 
Mr. Brown told one of his interpreters, who was one 
of the training-school boys, and who had promised to 
meet him there. Counting out a hundred cowries 


48 


ASENDI, A WEST AFRICAN TALE 


took time. Then for the woman to recount them 
took more time. 

“ This marketing business is the most tedious thing 
we have to do here in Africa,” said Mrs. Brown to her 
husband, who nodded his assent. 

They bought enough cassada to last three days and 
had to count out another hundrd cowries, and have 
them recounted. 

“ That meat would look good if so many flies were 
not on it,” remarked Mrs. Brown. 

“ Yes,” answered her husband, “ we’ll leave the 
meat for David to buy, so if there are flies on it we at 
least shall not see them.” 

“ John,” remarked his wife, “ I just happened to 
think that I never see flies anywhere in Africa but on 
the meat at the markets. Where they come from is 
a mystery to me. Here are thousands of them.” 

“ They are like the English,” her husband rejoined, 
“ they like meat. For my part I wish there were 
more vegetables to buy here.” 

Seeing fresh-looking eggs they bought a dozen, and 
counted out six hundred cowries more. 

“ Well, I’m tired Beatrice,” said the missionary to 
his wife, “ let’s go home. These people are too much 
behind the times to have much business dealings 
with them. Here’s an hour gone and we only bought 
these few things.” 

“ Yes, I’m tired too,” replied Mrs. Brown. 










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Chapter Nine 


Mrs. Brown Again 


“ Look behind you, Beatrice, Mr. Brown remarked 
to his wife when they had gone a short distance from 
the market. Scores of children were following the 
carriage. They gradually fell behind and by the time 
the missionaries reached their home they had all 
disappeared. 

Well, Asendi, did you get my bed-room clean ? ” 
Mrs. Brown asked the boy. 

“ Yes’m, too clean, too clean,” he replied. 

His mistress knew that he meant ‘ very ’ clean, for 
once before when she had asked a native if he loved 
Jesus, he had answered, “ I love Him too much.” 
“ Mrs. Brown smiled to think any one could get the 
room too clean. 

“ What are you doing David ? ” she asked going to 
the kitchen. 

“ Getting smoke off this pot,” the cook answered. 

“ But David, you’ll rub the bottom off the pot with 
the smoke. I’m afraid. Let me see it,” his mistress 
replied 

Surely he had rubbed several large holes in the 
bottom of the pot in his zeal to get the smoke off. 


50 


ASENDI, A WKST AFRICAN TACK 


Poor David looked dismayed when Mrs. Brown 
showed him the holes and told him not to mb so hard 
the next time. 

“Just received a letter from England with five 
pounds in it, wife ! ” joyously exclaimed Mr. Brown at 
that moment, “so, little woman, we won’t starve.” 

“ Starve !” exclaimed his wife, “ Why John, starve ! 
We could trust God. Didn’t the missionaries, months 
ago, say I c6uld not live a month in Africa that I 
would be in the ground if you didn’t take me home 
then. Here I am. Didn’t they wonder why I ever 
came, saying, I was the weakest person ever in 
Africa? ” 

“ Yes,” assented her husband, “ but darling, it isn’t 
right to throw one’s life away and you are getting 
weaker and weaker. I have been wondering if I 
ought to take you home.” 

“No, if God wants us home He will make it plain,” 
protested his wife. 

That night a pimple appeared on Mrs. Brown’s 
hand. The next morning it was larger and more 
painful. The next day her hand was quite swollen, 
and of a brown and green color. 

“ John, I’m afraid gangrene is setting in and I shall 
lose my hand, perhaps an arm or per — haps — worse ! ” 
Mrs. Brown said to her husband. 

“ Beatrice, I am going to take you to Abeokuta. 
There is a doctor there who will lance it. I’m afraid 


ASKNni, A WKST AFRICAN TALK 


51 


to attempt it. I’ll get the carriers at once! So get 
ready.” 

Mr. Brown was off on a run. It was one of the 
malarial boils so common to that country which had 
appeared on Mrs. Brown’s hand. Soon her husband 
was back again. “ All right, Beatrice,” he said, “ the 
carriers will be here at six o’clock to-morrow morning. 
We must pack in a hurry. I’m going to pack all our 
goods and leave orders for some of the things to be 
sent to us in case we go to America.” 

“ A-m-e-r-i-c-a, John ? the brown eyes looked sur- 
prised. 

“ Yes my darling, America 1 You said if God did 
not want us here. He would show us. Perhaps he is 
showing us now,” her husband replied. 

“ O h 1 ” was the answer of Mrs. Brown. 

“ David, get ready,” Mr. Brown called to his cook, 
” wer’e going to Abeokuta to-morrow at six. Missus 
sick. We want you and Asendi to go. Tell Asendi.” 

David and Asendi soon appeared at the bed-room 
door with delighted faces. A trip to Abeokuta meant 
pleasure to them. Mrs. Brown packed a little but 
feeling fatigued, her husband had put her to bed. 
She could not sleep, however, but with sad eyes 
watched her husband do the packing. 

“ I wish I could help you, John dear,” she said. 

“ That’s all right, dearest, you go to sleep, and get 
some rest,” her husband answered, 


52 


ASENDI, • A WKST AFRICAN TALE 


It was after twelve o’clock when Mr. Brown finished 
packing. At six o’clock the carriers came. They said 
they would not go. The reason they gave was that a six- 
pence a day was not enough for each man. Sixpence 
was their usual price, but seeing the urgency of the 
case they had demanded a shilling. 

“ Well,” replied the exhausted missionary, “ because 
you are here I will give you a shilling. Now get the 
loads and start off. Here’s a trunk and this box, and 
this trunk — get the hammock ready. Let the men 
with the loads start off. Come, Beatrice. Take it 
easy dear. I’ll stay right behind you, if you want 
anything call me.” 

“ Yes, darling,” his wife replied. 

“ Missus may I have the can ” ? David asked run- 
ning to his mistress with an empty can in his hand. 

Yes, David, all you find,” she responded. 

Asendi, as happy as a lark, was on hand in his clean 
suit which he had washed himself the night before, 
his little bundle of clothes on his head. 


Chapter Ten 


Mr. Maxwell 


The party reached Oyo that night. They stayed 
at Mr. Johnson’s house until morning. There they 
met a young trader, Mr. Maxwell, who was going to 
Abeokuta, and who offered Mrs. Brown his hammock. 
He would go along on his horse, he said. He was a 
delightful young man from the United States. Dressed 
in the height of style, he would have been no despic- 
able companion outwardly for any millionaire’s son. 
His hammock was the best kind of a government 
hammock. One would hardly be jolted in it. Mrs. 
Brown was glad of the offer, for the missionaries’ 
hammocks are at the best, poor, rickety ones, which 
bounce the inmates very badly. Mr. Maxwell was a 
great talker. His laugh was so hearty that it did 
good, like medicine, to Mrs. Brown’s tired nerves. 

“ Well, how do you like the natives, Mrs. Brown ? 
Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! ” he asked. 

“Very much, Mr. Maxwell,” she replied, “how do 
you ? ” 

“ rfind them an independent .set. The white man 
can scarcely get them to do anything for him,” Mr. 
Maxwell replied. 


54 


ASlCNDI, A WKST AFRICAN TALF 


“ Well, we did not find it so,” responded ]\Irs. 
Brown. 

“ Maybe, you missionaries treat them better than 
we do, Ha ! Ha ! Ha I ” replied Mr. Maxwell. 

“ We try to treat them as brothers,” said Mrs. 
Ikown. 

“ Ha! Ha 1 Ha ! ” roared Mr. Maxwell, “ I wish I 
could, but they’re too much for me ! ” 

It was time for the caravan to move on so the con- 
versation ceased. 

“All right, Beatrice!” Mr. Brown’s voice could be 
heard calling to his wife ev^ery few minutes. 

“ Yes, John,” she called back. 

Her hammock was a little in advance of her hus- 
band’s. Mr, Maxwell followed them on his horse. 
They stopped at a village to refresh themselves. 
Mr. Maxwell had his tent put up and invited the mis- 
sionaries to take lunch with him. While waiting 
they sat on camp chairs outside the tent. 

“ Put on your helmet, John,” vehemently protested 
his wife as he took it off a few minutes to cool off. 

“ How devoted you are one to each other,” re- 
marked their friend. 

The missionaries smiled. Little Asendi sat on a 
tree stump not far-distant. He looked in his bag to 
get something to eat. His bible was on top, so he 
took it out first, and carefully laying a handkerchief 
on a stone placed the Bible on it. 


ASKNni, A WUST AFRICAN TACK 


55 


“ See that youngster,” remarked Mr. Maxwell, “ he 
seems awfully fond of the bible, Ha ! Ha ! ” 

“ Yes,” replied Mrs. Brown, “ Asendi is an ex- 
cellent Christian.” 

“ Ha ! Ha ! ” laughed their friend. 

“ We had two French officers take dinner with us 
one evening,” remarked Mr. Brown. “ One of them 
dashed me a handsome gun and cartridges — by the 
way, Beatrice, I left my gun behind. I would tell 
David or Asendi, they could have it, but one dare not 
sell or give fire-arms to the natives.” 

“ Do you have much game up your way? ” asked 
their friend. 

“ Only partridge and deer,” replied the missionary. 

“ I’ve been gunning a few times, but never shot 
anything, Ha ! Ha ! ” said Mr. Maxwell. I never was 
so surprised as when I heard you were a missionary,” 
he continued looking at Mr. Brown,” “yon look like a 
sport, Ha ! Ha ! ” 

After lunch the caravan proceeded. Going 
through the heathen towns their eyes were refreshed 
once in a while to see a native who had something 
in common with themselves — who had been Chris- 
tianized or civilized. 

“ It’s not so bad up this way,” remarked Mr. Brown, 
“as it was ten years ago. Why, I heard of a mission- 
ary who tried to cross the Ogun river. The natives 
would not take him across until he pulled out his 


ASKNDI, A WRST AFRICAN TALE^ 


5 ^^ 


false teeth and put them back again Then, thinking 
he was a God they hurried him across.” 

“Ha! Ha!” roared Mr. Maxwell. “That’s not as 
bad as one I heard of a white man, whom the natives 
were going to kill. The poor victim frantically un- 
screwed his wooden leg and screwed it back again 
before his captors’ very eyes, who fled from him leav- 
ing him unmolested.” 

“ Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! ” laughed the trio. 

At that moment Mr. Maxwell’s interpreter came to 
inform the party that the Bale of the town wanted to 
meet the white men. The Bale came out of his 
house to salute the strangers. He made a deep bow. 
In Africa, inferiors salute superiors by complete pros- 
tration. The Bale salutes none of his tribe. To the 
white man, as being worthy of respect, he deigned to 
bow. Learning one of the party was a missionary, 
the Bale wanted to know an important thing. 

“ Must we give up our wives if we turn Christians?” 
he asked anxiously. 

“ Yes, a man ought to hav^e only one wife,” replied 
Mr. Brown. 

“ It’s an awkward thing to give up our wives,” he 
remarked. Then taking a handspring over a log like 
a boy, the whilom dignified Bale disappeared amid his 
laughing retainers. 

“ It 7nust be an awkward thing,” laughed Mr. 
IMaxwell, “when a man has five hundred wives, as I 
liear the Bal^ has. Ha ! Ha ! ” 


f 


Chapter Eleven 

John Asendi Brown 

The party arrived at Abeokuta. The name “Abeo- 
kuta ” means “ under a stone.” The city was founded 
by the English to resist the invasion of the fierce 
Dahomians into their territory. Abeokuta is sixty 
miles from the coast. A railway connects it with 
Lagos. 

The missionaries parted from their new friend, and 
went to lodge at the mission station, which was in 
charge of Mr. Smith. 

“ Here’s a letter already, Beatrice, from one of the 
boys,” Mr. Brown remarked the next day, coming on 
the piazza where his wife was sitting. 

“ What has he to say?” asked Mrs. Brown. 

“ He says he is glad you escaped in such great 
danger.” 

Mrs. Brown smiled. “ How I wish I could see the 
boys again,” she said. 

She had her hand lanced. Speedily it grew well. 
The change of scene made her better. She gained 
strength day by day. They had been at Abeokuta a 
few months when an important event occurred. 

A little boy was born to Rev. and Mrs. Brown. 

Only six pounds he weighed. He seemed to be 
nothing but skin and bones. “ Listen, John,” his 


58 


ASKNDJ, A WF,ST Al-KJCAN TAI.K 


wife said, “to the piece of poetry I composed on my 
baby : ” 

This little baby boy 

Come to fill my heart with joy, 

And to be unto the world a blessing rare ; 

The Ivord Almighty gave, 

In His wisdom and His love. 

Unto me, to be entrusted to my care. 



Oh, my darling baby boy. 

You are now my pride and joy; 

And a Christian you must early turn to be ; 

For when ages roll away. 

And the earth and works decay, 

We must not be parted in Eternity. 

These little hands and feet 
Have been fashioned very sweet, 

Hy the One who knoweth how to make things fair ; 
From stars in all their might. 

To earth’s length, and depth, and height, 

Even down unto ni}'^ baby’s golden hair. 

This tiii}^ little mite 
Of humanity .so bright. 

Eying in my arms was placed there with a plan ; 
His life might deeper grow. 

That he more and more might know, 

’Till he came, in triith, to be a perfect man. 

The sun shows forth God’s ways, 

And the moon shines out His praise. 

And the universe, in glory, sings ‘ Amen,’ 

A man we want to see. 

Who throughout Eternity 

Sliall surpass in singing praises all of them.” 


ASENDI, A WEST AFRICAN TAEE 


59 


“That’s all right, Beatrice,” assented her husband 
“ I hope our little boy will be a great man. I jii.st re- 
ceived my salary from the Board, dear.” 

After the baby came Mrs. Brown was very weak. 
She could not sit on the piazza, lest a breeze should 
touch her, and a chill would immediately follow with 
a rise in temperature. Twice since the birth of her 
boy she had taken the fever. In the last attack her 
temperature had gone up to one hundred and four de- 
grees. She could not gain strength. The doctor 
said if she took the fever again it might prove 
fatal. “ You better take her to America,” he advised 
her husband. 

Mr. Brown decided at once. “ Beatrice, wer’e 
going to America this week. Just as soon as we can 
get ready. There’s a steamer that goes on Saturday. 
We’ll try to make it,” he said to his wife. She ac- 
quiesced. David had tears in his eyes when he heard 
the news. 

“ Mast’r take David along — me die if Mast’r and 
Missus goes and leaves David alone. You my father. 
No one ever sent David to school before. I love you 
and Missus,” he said to Mr. Brown. Tears stood in 
Mr. Brown’s eyes as he saw the sad face of David. 
Never before had he seen such a woe-begone face. 
He told David that it was impossible to take him 
along ; that he and Missus would write to him from 


6o 


ASKxN^lM. A WKST AFRrCAN TAIAv 


time to time and send him things from America. 
David then resigned himself to the inevitable. 

“ Asendi cried to. He wanted to go along. “ Don’t 
take Baby away from Asendi ! Asendi loves Baby,” he 
said. 

Mr. Brown tried to console him, but little Asendi’s 
face was very sad as he helped the missionaries pack. 
Asendi would stay up at night, to walk with the 
baby. He would rock it in his little arms, and sing 
his little song, “ Oh ! Jesu f^ me. Oh ! Jesu fe me. Oh ! 
Jesu fe me, Bible so fun me be,” (“ Yes, Jesus loves 
me; Yes, Jesus loves me; Yes, Jesus loves me; the 
Bible tells me so.”) 

“ If you go to America he said to Mrs. Brown, “ 5^011 
must call baby — ‘ Asendi ’.” 

His mistress explained that he was to be called 
after his father, “ John Brown.” 

“ ^]ohn Asendi Brown,’ said little Asendi with a 
smile on his face.” 

“ All right Asendi, the baby shall be called ‘ John 
Asendi Brown,’ after you,” Mrs. Brown replied. 
Asendi stretched his mouth from ear to ear with 
delight. 

“ Here’s a card of buttons and a spool of thread for 
you and some needles,” Mrs. Brown addressed her 
little nurse-boy. 

“ ‘Adupe ’, ‘Adiipe ’, ” (thank you), the boy replied. 
He was thrilled with delight at the handsoyne presents 


ASICNDI, A \Vi:ST AFRICAN TALF 


6l 


for they were handsome to his eyes. Mr. Brown 
came in at that moment. They decided to take 
Asendi to Lagos. The day came to leave Abeokuta. 
Amid the hustle and confusion, Mrs. Brown forgot to 
say good-bye to David. Seated in the train she felt 
some one nudge her elbow. It was David. He said, 
“Good-bye Missus, David do what you tell him. 
David obey God. Good-bye Missus, and Baby.” 

Mrs. Brown could hardly repress her tears, while 
she shook his hand good-bye. David’s wife who had 
accompanied him to Abeokuta had tears in her eyes. 
She wanted Missus to stay. The train pulled out— 
parting souls never to meet in this world again. 

Lagos is a death-trap. The death-rate is 15 per 
cent, there. The party intended only to stay over 
night at Lagos, and the next day start for England. 

They had their passage booked on the “ Fantee,” to 
sail Saturday. When they arrived at the wharf on 
Saturday, they learned that the “ Fantee ” would be 
a week late — she had not arrived in the harbor yet. 

“ The ‘Oleiida’ is in the harbor — a good boat — why 
don’t you take her?” remarked a merchant who pitied 
the forlorn looking party. “ They’ll exchange your 
tickets. The tender is here,” he continued. 

“ Yes, John, let’s go on that boat. This is a dread- 
ful place — we must get out of here,” Mrs. Brown re- 
marked to her husband. 

Mr. Brown hastened to exchange the tickets. The 


62 


ASKNIH, A \VJ*:ST AFRICAN TALE 


“ Olenda ” was a slow boat, but anything was prefer- 
able to spending another night at Lagos. 

In her hurry to get on the tender Mrs. Brown for- 
got to say good-bye to Asendi. When her husband 
re-joined her he said, “ Poor Little Asendi, he’s stand- 
ing on the wharf, crying as if his heart would break.” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Brown, “ I forgot to say 
good-bye to him. He never got to say good-bye to 
Baby. It’s too late now. Poor little Asendi ! ” 


Chapter Twelve. 


Men on the Boat. 

To get from the tender to the steamship, they were 
obliged to be put into a surf boat. The mode of en- 
tering the surf boat was by means of a tub let down 
by pulleys and ropes over the ocean. The' captain 
took the baby out of Mrs. Brown’s arms, and told her 
to get into the tub. She had heard they would not 
allow her to hold the baby as she descended, so she 
was prepared for the cruel ordeal. She landed in the 
boat among the native rowers. Mr. Brown was let 
down next. As a wave took the boat up nearer the 
trader, the Captain let the baby fall into it’s father’s 
arms, over the mighty deep. Before he reached his 
father’s arms, another wave took the boat down. But 
Mr. Brown had presence of mind and caught his 
infant, or it would have found a watery grave. 
Mrs. Brown shuddered as she witnessed the scene. 

To be raised to the steamship, Mrs. Brown was put 
in the tub again. That time she held tightly to her 
infant in one hand, while with the other she held on 
to the ropes at the side of the tub by which they were 
to ascend. They were swung thirty feet in air above 
the ocean. Their lives depended on the firm grasp of 


64 


ASIvNDI, A WKST AFRICAN TALE 


her one arm. If she should have lost her hold, they 
would have fallen into the depths below. Her hus- 
band held his breath as he watched them ascend. A 
sigh escaped all lips as the tub was pulled securely 
over on to the deck of the steamer. “ Thank God !” 
ejaculated Mrs. Brown, as she sought her state-room. 
Her husband reached the deck all right. There were 
only two other white passengers on the boat. One 
of them was a young merchant who had been only 
two months at Lagos. During his last attack of the 
fever he had been so raving crazy as to almost jump 
out of the window. The doctor ordered him to take 
the first boat that came along. The captain of the 
“ Olenda ” called the baby “ Little Bob.” 

“ So little Bob’s only four week’s old — well, he’s 
had quite exciting adventures already — poor little 
devil,” he remarked to little Bob’s mother. 

Mrs. Brown shuddered as she thought of the cold 
ocean and how narrowly her babe escaped falling 
into it. 

“ Thank God, thank God ! ” she murmured to her- 
self, as she viewed with satisfaction her darling lying 
snugly in her warm arms. “ Dear little darling, isn’t 
he sweet. Captain ? ” she remarked to the Captain. 

“ Pooh, pooh !” replied the Captain, “ every mother 
thinks her baby pretty, if it’s as ugly as mud.” 

“ Of course he’s pretty ; mother thinks so, any- 
way ! ” exclaimed Mrs, Brown. 


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ASKNDI, A WKST AFRICAN TALK 


65 


She was glad that they had practically the whole 
boat to themselves. The baby’s cries would not dis- 
turb anyone, and the sailors would be at her disposal 
to wash its clothes. The friends in Africa had filled 
their minds before starting with stories of former mis- 
sionaries who had died of fever on shipboard. One 
man on the boat remarked to Mrs. Brown that another 
mother had brought her babe on board, but it had 
died. 

“You must take care of yourself after you leave 
Sierra Leone until you reach the Canaries. Most 
passengers die between those places. The reason is, 
they think they are out of danger after leaving the 
coast of Africa. The weather being balmy, they take 
off their coats, and catch a chill. The first thing 
they know they have the fever,’’ the Captain remarked 
to the missionaries. 

Over a week was spent skirting the coast of Africa, 
taking in exports. These consisted of rubber, cotton, 
palm-oil, peanuts, ebony, mahogany and ivory. It 
was very tedious to the missionaries. The oppressive 
air of the tropics affected them. When Cape Palmas 
and Accra and Second! were reached, guns were fired 
on land. Soon natives were rowing out to meet the 
steamship. 

“ Hi ! hi ! hi ! ” the boatmen sang, keeping time 
with their weird songs to the splash of their oars, as 
boat after boat came out manned by eight men— four 


• 66 


ASENEM, A WEST AFRICAN TATE 


on a side. When the “ Kroo ” boys reached home, 
they tumbled their boxes into canoes. Sometimes 
the canoes would upset. The possessors would swim 
for their boxes, while other natives with their heads 
just above water would dip the water from the canoes. 
They did not care much who took possession of their 
things as long as they lived in the same community 
and it would thereby be benefitted. They would dive 
beneath the water for coins and catching them in their 
mouths would appear on the surface again. The 
“ Kroo ” boy is considered the best servant of the 
white man along the coast. He is distinguished by a 
broad blue band tattooed down his forehead, signifying 
that he would rather die than submit to slavery. The 
nigger minstrel had his origin in the “ Kroo ’’ boy. 
Little tots scarcely able to walk would paddle canoes 
out to meet the steamer. Natives came on board to 
sell souvenirs. 

At Sierra Leone Mr. Brown wanted to go ashore, 
but he had the fever so badly that he had to lay in his 
berth quite miserable. Then they were off for the 
Canary Islands ! In a week’s time the Canaries were 
sighted. Arriving there, Spanish shawls, scarfs and 
trinkets were brought on board the boat by the eager 
merchants of Santa Cruz. 

“Get off the boat ! There's only one man to sell his 
goods here. That’s this man! You other fellows 
must get off the boat,” said the First Mate to a poor 


ASKNDl, A \VI«ST AI'RTCAN TAIJC 67 

Spaniard who was holding out a beautiful scarf for 
twelve shilling. 

“Just see the poor oppress the poor!” said Mrs. 
Brown to her husband. 

“ It was only this morning that the same officer was 
complaining of the tyranny of the Steamship Com- 
pany. He said they used their men too hard, never 
granting them more than a week home with their 
families, after each trip — and during which time they 
were obliged to be at the ship the whole of each 
day whether there was work to be done or not. I 
I was pitying the poor workman. Now I see they are 
just as cruel when they have the authority,” she 
continued. 

“Let him stay awhile, I want to buy this scarf,” 
said Mrs. Brown to the First Mate. 

And they were off for England ! No more steps 
until then I 

Occasionally a whale was seen ploughing the waters 
like an iron monster. After being on the boat for al- 
most four weeks the light-houses of England were 
seen. Then the lights of New Brighton sparkled on 
the English horizon. Liverpool was reached. One 
by one the passengers and crew came to say good-bye 
to “Little Bob,” who sat, cradled in his mother’s arms, 
in the dining-saloon, 


Chapter Thirteen. 

People of America. 

Rev. and Mrs. Brown took a fast boat to America. 
Unlike the “Olenda,” the boat was crowded. The 
first night John Asendi Brown cried. A man in the 
room next the Browns said with a growl, “Some folks 
want the whole boat to themselves. They don’t want 
other people to sleep 1 ” 

A well-meaning old lady the next day remarked to 
Mrs. Brown, “ It would be better to bury it on land 
than in the sea anyhow.” 

“I don’t expect to bury him,” thought the tired 
mother, “I expect him to be a great, good man.” 

They reached America in safety. Mrs. Brown 
showed with delight, her baby to her friends. “ She’ll 
never raise him,” they said when she was out of hear- 
ing. “Such a little old man, he’s nothing but skin 
and bones ! ” they said. 

“ And aren’t you sorry now, that you went and had 
all that trouble?” asked one of her girl friends, who 
had meant at one time to be a missionary herself, but 
had given it up to be married. 

“Sorry!” replied Mrs. Brown, “Never! We did 
our duty— that means a lot. We made some poor 


ASENDI, A WKST AFRICAN TALE 69 

souls happy. We’re very happy.” Her friend started 
as if pierced by a dagger. 

Saying good-bye hurriedly, she left the room where 
Mrs. Brown was entertaining her guests. 

What made Bertha start so ? asked Mrs. Brown. 
“ Oh she got married to Mr. Good, who worked for 
Andrew’s wholesale house, and he appropriated the 
company’s funds for himself and got in jail for em- 
bezzlement. He got out on bail, however. His friends 
helped him pay it back. Her two children both died 
too. She has had a great amount of trouble, ’’one 
lady remarked to Mrs. Brown. 

“Poor Bertha,” sighed Mrs. Brown. “And how 
is Edna who did the opposite and gave up her sweet- 
heart because he would not be a Christian?” she 
asked. “ I never heard his name. What was it?” 

“Maxwell,” her friend replied, “a fine, jolly 
fellow. She broke his heart, so he went off to Africa 
for some trading firm. I hear he was converted out 
there. He has written Edna about it. The engage- 
ment has been renewed. She intends going out there 
to marry him and do mission work.” 

“How long ago was that?” asked Mrs. Brown. 

“Just recently,” her friend answered. “I think he 
went to to that part where you were — Yoruba country. 
Did you meet him ? ” 

“ Yes,” replied Mrs. Brown. 


70 


ASKNDl, A WICST AlRfCAX TAI.p: 


Edna Eielson came to call on Mrs. Brown when she 
heard she had arrived home. 

“ So it’s through you, Beatrice, I have my sweet- 
heart again,” her voice broke into sobs, as she hug- 
ged Mrs. Brown. 

“ Hows that, Edna?” asked Mrs. Brown. 

“ He writes that through the words and influence 
of Rev. and Mrs. Brown, missionaries, he was led to 
believe in the Bible — and through the Bible, led to 
God,” replied Miss Lielson. 

“ We did more good than we thought, Edna,” re- 
sponded Mrs. Brown. “ One never knows the good 
they do, if in the path of duty. So you’re going to 
take my place, Edna ? ” 

“Yes,” answered Edna Eielson. 

“ Be sure you hunt out little Asendi, whom we left 
in Mr. Smith’s care,” Mrs. Brown added. The friends 
parted. Several months rolled by, and Edna Lielson 
was ready to sail. She was a tall, stately girl, with a 
saintly character. Her sweet face beamed with joy. 
She was going to her lover whom she had not seen 
for two years. Her mother and father being dead, 
she had no family to leave behind. She was very 
happy. She was going alone on that long voyage. 

Mrs. Brown often looked at her little boy and won- 
dered if he would ever grow — he seemed so small. 

When, however, a year had gone by, and the sweet- 
est face beamed under a mass of golden hair — and 


ASEX[)r. A WEST AFRICAN TAEE 


71 


two chubby arms twined themselves about her neck — 
she realized that John Aseiidi Brown was as fine a 
specimen of a boy as ever was. 

He grew to be a tall, handsome lad. Often would 
he come to his mother while she sat reading by night, 
and want to hear all about the wonderful times she 
and his father had in Africa — and all about little 
Asendi, who used to rock him to sleep. 

“I had a letter from Maxwell to-day, darling,” Mr. 
Brown remarked to his wife one evening. “He says 
Asendi is to be ordained next month. He says As- 
endi is to be ordained next month. He says he is an 
excellent preacher and the people all love him.” 

“How glad I am,” ejaculated Mrs. Brown. “He 
can do more good among his own people than many 
white missionaries. 

Far away in Africa, Asendi was preparing to be or- 
dained. He had returned to Ogbomoso with Mr. and 
Mrs. Maxwell. Finishing his course at the day-school 
there — he had entered the Training School and had 
graduated. 

One little face was absent when he returned to Og- 
bomoso. Raki, the native operator there had stolen 
little Susan, and placed her among his fifteen wives. 

Bitter tears were shed by Asendi ; for, all of the girls, 
none were to him what Susan was. She was so con- 
genial and so pretty — so smart and good. There 
was no little Susan any more to tell his secrets to, no 


72 


ASICNDI, A WEST AFRICAN TALE 


girlish companion to accompany him on his walk to 
church. As the years rolled by, and he ripened into 
manhood, he thought of Susan more and more. As 
he passed her hut on the way to the post-office and 
saw the sad pensive face of the maiden there— a lump 
came into his throat— and he yearned for Susan. 


Chapter Fourteen. 


Susan. 


Mr. Maxwell pleaded with Raki to give her up but 
he refused. There is no love, as we understand it, 
among the raw African lovers. They never kiss each 
other. The natives on the coast seeing the English- 
men kiss their wives, invented a word to describe the 
process, i. e. “fee fa fu,” (“ to suck mouth.”) The in- 
nate love of a mother for a child is the only light that 
burns for love in that dark land besides the 
love of the children for their parents and for 
each other. The mothers dote on their offspring. 
They carry them on their backs until they are two or 
three years old. The women stay at home and cook 
for the family — with their babe on their back their 
arms are free. It seems that the women about the 
huts are always preparing food or eating. With a 
long pestle they pound the yams into a pulp, mixing 
it with water, they make a sort of puffy paste called 
“eyan.” It is an excellent substitute for bread. 
Another food they prepare is “ekkaw, ” a preparation of 
Indian corn or maize. After the grain has been 
macerated until it ferments, it is crushed between two 
stones and then washed to separate the husks. The 


74 


AvSKNDI. A WKST Al- RICAN TATJv 


milky liquid is then boiled in large pots until it be- 
comes a little thicker than rich cream. In this form 
a large spoonful is wrapped in a portion of banana 
leaf and when it cools it becomes a jelly-like sub- 
stance having a slightly acid taste, much liked by the 
people of the country. From four to six of these are 
taken at each meal with a few spoonfuls of the native 
sauce. Dried cassada made into flour and then cooked 
until it becomes a stiff paste is another favorite dish. 
The sauce which accompanies almost inevitably every 
aiticle of food is a concoction of palm-oil, flesh of some 
kind, ochre, esculent herbs and the ground seed of 
native melon. “ Palaver Sauce ” is the name by 
which the foreigners know it. The natives call it 
“orbeh.” It is generally eaten in token of friendship 
after the natives have settled any difflculty. Two 
very agreeable dishes are : balls of cornmeal dough, 
seasoned with peppers and fried in palm oil; and 
beans, stewed in this oil and highly seasoned in the 
same way. These peppers are very small and are 
anti-fibrile. The juice from the palm-tree is used as a 
beverage. It is like cider in flavor and not intoxi- 
cating until several days old. They also brew a weak 
beer from Indian corn and Guinea corn. Wild bees’ 
honey, and taffy made from the juice of sugar-cane 
are the sweets which complement their more solid ar- 
ticles of food. Both women and men, blacken the 
margin of the eye-lids with pulverized antimony (sul- 


ASKNDI, A WEST AFRICAN TATE 


75 


phuretted) and the women dye their finger-nails, feet, 
palms of their hands with pulverized camwood. 
When about to take part in some sacrifice they fre- 
quently give the whole person a pinkish tinge. 
Beads, nose-jewels, bracelets of silver, brass, carved 
ivory, and glass form the ornaments. The rings are 
often worn on the ankles as well as on the arms. 
Men also wear necklaces of coral and beads, and brace- 
lets of glass or metal. Tattooing in blue is practiced 
to a limited extent, and is so well done as to resemble 
figured cloth. All take especial care of the teeth, 
chewing a certain root to cleanse them. This is done 
every morning before breakfast. Everybody, except 
very small children carries a small quantity of snuff 
oil their tongues, made from the black Brazilian roll- 
tobacco. It is ground with a small quantity of benin- 
seed and lubi, a kind of carbonate of soda found in the 
country. 

It was at the door of the operator’s house that 
Susan sat one morning, sad and listless. She had 
» been beaten the night before by Raki — because she 
refused to take some food which had been sacrificed 
to Efa — the goddess of secrets. On her shoulders 
were scores of sores where the flesh had been lacerated. 
She was thinking of Asendi that morning and won- 
dering how she could see him. “I’m going to leave 
here. I’m not his wife anyway,” she mused, “ I can’t 
stand it. The bible says a man can have only on^ 


76 


ASKNDi, A WEST AFRICAN TAEE 


wife — if he takes more it is adultery ! I’m sinning to 
stay here. I’m not his property if he did give six 
sheep for me. Inanimate things can be his property, 
if no one’s else — but human beings have a will to 
choose to whom they will belong. My heart belongs 
to Asendi, and he stole me unwillingly. I’m not his ! 
I belong to Asendi ! ” Her musings were interrupted 
by a sound rap on the shoulders. 

“Does the dog die when his master whips him?” 
sneered a woman, as she stooped over and leered into 
the maiden’s face. “Shango will be down upon us in 
wrath if there is one absent at his sacrifice, the sun’s 
high now, and you’re not painted yet ! ” The speaker 
was Raki’s first wife who was jealous of the beautiful 
Susan. 


Chapter Fifteen. 


Asendi and Susan, 


Susan usually made some excuse to absent herself 
from the festivals ; but when there was no other way 
she felt obliged to go and partake of the feast, lest she 
should bring down upon herself the wrath of the com- 
munity. Her conscience, however, being at last dis- 
turbed too much, she decided to die rather than par- 
take any more of meat sacrificed to idols. How 
should she escape the feast to Shango ! “ I’m going 

down, mother, to the farm to try to find Omiti. He 
ran away from his mother this morning and she is 
crazy about him. Shango will be satisfied with that 
good deed,” Susan answered her tormentor. 

The woman thought a while. Then as if glad to be 
rid of the hated presence of the girl, she muttered, “if 
he’s not, may he send fire down on you, not us ! ” 

“ My boy ! my boy ! ” shrieked a woman near at 
hand — one of the wives of Raki. “ The evil spirits 
will get him and carry him away and he will starve 
to death. He forgot his bracelets.” The bracelets 
are worn as charms to keep away the evil spirits. 
The woman tore her hair and went wildly up and 
down the compound, tossing her arms high in the air ; 


78 ASKNDI, A WEST AFRICAN TALE 

then prostrating herself before a huge snake that ap- 
peared, she implored it to send her boy back to her. 

“ Never mind, Sansi,” Susan interrupted, “ I’m 
going to the farm to try to find Omiti. Pray to Olo- 
rum (Great Spirit) that I find him.” So saying Susan 
put her head-dress on. She left the compound in 
search of Omiti. 

” When I return,” she said to herself, “ I’ll go to 
see Asendi at the mission house.” 

“ E’rewa (salute for walking) ; E’kabo (welcome) ; 
A’kauro (good morning),” the women passing would 
salute her, bowing the knee to her as their superior. 
Some would prostrate themselves on the ground to 
her. Children would prostrate themselves. 

“ Did you see Omiti ? did you see Omiti ? ” asked 
Susan of the passers-by. No one had seen Omiti. 
Sad at heart she retraced her steps. She took the 
road to the mission house ; arriving there she asked 
for Asendi. He came out and stood before her as if 
abashed at her presence. 

“ Asendi,” she began, “ I’m going to leave Raki — 
hush — don’t tell — I’m not his wife, Asendi. The 
Bible teaches a man ought have only one wife. He 
stole me. It’s a sin to stay. I am a slave, Asendi. 

I belong to God. I cannot stay. I belong to — to — 
some one — else.” 


“ Who, Susan?” asked Asendi. 


ASENDI, A WEST AFRICAN TALE 


79 


“ My heart is yours, Asendi,” Susan replied. 

Asendi started. 

“ Susan, it is as you say. Fve often thought of it, 
of late. You are not Raki’s wife. He has no claims 
on you. The few sheep he paid for you could be re- 
paid him. My heart is yours, too, Susan ! ” exclaimed 
the youth. 

“ 1 can’t live there longer, Asendi. I can’t go to 
the heathen feasts any more, and they will kill me if 
I refuse to go,” Susan went on. 

“ Where are you going?” asked her lover. 

” I’m going to run away to the coast, then go to 
England,” she replied. 

“ No, Susan, they’d capture you. You know the 
gate-keepers know which tribe you belong to by your 
face-marks,” Asendi remarked. 

“Well, I’ll die sooner than stay,” said Susan. 

“ Susan, I’ll go with you. But mark you ! wee’ll 
go into the interior ; we won’t go to the coast. We’ll 
start missions nearer the Niger. If we go to the 
coast the English might capture us,” Asendi said. 

“ But,” protested Susan, “ if they capture us they 
will kill you. I would rather go alone. 

“ Enough, Susan,” her lover rejoined. “ I cannot 
let you go alone. Don’t mention this to any one. 
Mr. Maxwell is sick, or I would have him marry us 
now. I’ll let you know, then you come over and we 


8o 


ASENDI, A WDST AFRICAN TALF 


shall be lawfully married. Then none dare separate 
us.” 

“ All right, Asendi, good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye, Susan,” replied Asendi. 

She returned to her compound ; but without Omiti. 
The little fellow had returned safe and sound, how- 
ever, having gone to the river to fish a few miles away. 
His mother was hugging him, and had given him a 
sugar-cane stick to suck. 

“ The little imp ! ” shrieked one of the fifteen 
wives, hitting him across the face, “ don’t you know 
that the river gets angry if it loses its children (fish). 
We shall have no water now to drink, and we shall 
die of thirst.” 

“ Let the child alone ! ” shrieked Omiti’s mother, 
hitting the woman in the face with her fist. Then 
a fierce palaver ensued in which all the women joined. 
Blows were struck. Raki, coming in, separated them 
with a whip, which he carried at his side. 


Chapter Sixteen. 


A Mother. 


Ena was sick. He was a little boy of Raki’s house- 
hold. One night at midnight a piercing shriek dis- 
turbed the quiet of the night air. Lights soon flashed 
about and men slaves were taking down their guns 
and powder-gourds. Then there was the cry of Ena ! 
Ena! (Fire! Fire!) The noise was to frighten away 
the evil spirit, that was dragging away the little soul. 
The mother screamed and gave the alarm, when she 
discovered that her child was dying. The m^en ran 
for their medicine gourds and rattled them over the 
child to drive the evil spirit away. For some minutes 
the frantic mother continued to call its name while 
she forced apart its eyelid and breathed into its nos- 
trils. Then it revived and all was quiet again, as if 
nothing had happened. “ Poor souls,” thought Susan, 
“ if they would only accept Christianity, how happy 
they would be. How different Mrs. Jones the mission- 
ary acted when her little Robert was sick ! She 
doted on the child ; she seemed to live only for him ; 
and yet, when he died she was very quiet. Her hus- 
band said, ‘ Mary, we’ll see the little one in Jesus’ 
arms some day— he’s happy now, don’t grieve too 


82 


ASKNDI, A \\^I:CvST AFRICAN TALK 


much” ; and she replied, “ Yes, he’s happy; God’s will 
be done. Poor Traki ! she has no blessed hope like 
that. How awful to believe like her that when a 
child dies an evil spirit takes it. Poor Traki ! Poor 
Traki ! Jesus make the little one well, Amen.” 

Morning dawned, and the women went about their 
occupations as usual. 

One of the wives gave birth to a little girl. They 
tied charms on its little ankles and wrists to keep 
away the evil spirits. Then the mother wrapping it 
in her body cloth, placed it on her back and went 
about her work as usual. 

“ How’s little Ena, Traki, this morning? ” asked 
Susan. 

“ He’s better, than Kfa ! I’m going now to take 
these nuts to Kfa and the blood of this fowl to the 
devil to appease him. There’s nothing like Efa’s 
medicine. If your little girl gets sick,” she said turn- 
ing to the new mother, “ Pll rattle some of this over 
her.” 

“Traki, it was not Efa, that cured Ena, it was 
Jesus. I asked him to,” said Susan. 

“ Pooh, ” exclaimed Traki,” Those missionaries 
have turned your head ! Who’s Jesus ? ” 

“ You don’t have to give anything to Jesus, Traki,” 
continued Susan, “when you want his help. He 
only wants you to give up being bad.” 


ASICNDI, A WIvST AI-RTCAX TAIJC 




“ I must be bad,” replied the woman, “ can the fox 
help eat the chickens? ” 

“No, yon can be as ^ood as yon want to be Traki, 
see the snn. It wants to be the most powerful thing 
in the heavens and it is. So we can be what we want 
to be,” continued Susan. 

“ How ? ” asked the woman. 

“Jesus made yon, Traki, as he made the snn. He 
taught the snn how he will teach yon,” answered the 
little teacher. “ Then I’m to give this fowl to Jesus — 
not to the devil ; and these nuts to Jesus and, not 
to Efa ! ” Traki asked. 

“ Yes,” Traki ; answered Susan, “but this is how : 
poor Sanki is sick and has no cowries. She is hun- 
gry. Take her the chicken and let her eat. Give 
her the nuts. She can sell them and buy ekkaw.” 

The woman opened her month wide. “Is that the 
way to worship Jesus ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes,” answered Susan, “then tell Jesus — for He 
can hear yon though yon do not see him — that yon 
will not be bad if He will help yon. Then, Traki, 
Jesus will make yon happy and will take care of little 
Ena.” 

“I’ll do it! ” exclaimed the woman, “that seems good. 
But what if I am bad again ? ” 

“ Traki, white clothes worn where palm-oil is made 
get soiled but they can be washed again,” said Susan. 


84 


ASENDI, A WEST AFRICAN TALE 


“ Yes ! ” exclaimed the woman, “ they can be 
washed and washed.” 

“Yes, Traki, replied the girl, “so every time you 
are bad tell Jesus to wash you and keep you clean. ” 

The women parted. Susan thought how her own 
life had been changed since she had met the mission- 
aries. Those heathen practices were once something to 
her. Since she has met the missionaries they seemed 
to her so absurd and so pitiable. She looked at the 
little children tossing and spinning shells in the court- 
yard, while heavy brass anklets rattled with every 
movement the little feet made, and she thought, 
“ Poor little souls to be so burdened, as if those ank- 
lets will keep away the evil spirits. What are the 
children coming to 1 The girls to be slaves ; the boys 
to be slaves, or what is worse, the keepers of slaves !” 

Raki’s household consisted of ten slaves and five 
pawns, besides his wives and children. The more 
wives and slaves a man had, the greater his import- 
ance in the eyes of the Yoruba people. The price he 
paid for a man was ten pounds. There is also a sys- 
tem of pawnbroking among the Yorubas. Instead of 
pawning articles, they pawn themselves. Sometimes 
a priest tells a man that his dead ancestor is dis- 
pleased because he never made him a feast. The 
man borrows money for the feast. In time not being 
able to repay the loan, the creditor demands satisfac- 
tion. The poor man pawns himself to his creditor. 


ASENDl. A WEST AFRICAN TALE 85 

He works for him. The money he makes goes as inter- 
est on the loan — does not cancel the original amount. 

One of Raki’s daughters was to be married. A 
feast was to be held for three days at her father’s 
house, as the custom of the Yorubas is. The maiden 
had been betrothed when five years of age, by her 
parents. She was now eighteen years old, and had 
never spoken to her future husband. He was of the 
Egba tribe and lived in Abeokuta. 

Susan sent word to Asendi that it would be a good 
time to leave when the marriage rites were going on. 
Asendi replied that she should meet him at the native 
preacher’s house, who was Sandale by name. Mr. 
Maxwell was so ill that he could not trouble him at 
that time. Sandale would marry them. Susan put 
on her best clothes. No one suspected anything but 
that she was getting ready for the maiden’s wedding. 
Susan had good taste. Over a blue-and-white body 
cloth she slipped an orange-colored velvet .shoulder- 
robe. Around her hair she twined a gaily-colored 
piece of velvet. 

“You haven’t painted yourself yet,” remarked one 
of the wives to her. 

“ No,’’ Susan answered, “ I like it best without paint. 

The marriage ceremony began. The priest per- 
formed some fetish rites over the girl. There was 
drinking and beating of drums. In the midst of the 
noise and confusion, Su.san slipped away to Asendi. 


Chapter Seventeen. 


The Gate-Keepers. 


Sandale had been converted to Christianity. He 
was a sincere godly man. He had a little church 
which the missionaries had helped him build. He 
had married scores of couples in the Christian fashion. 
He was a hater of polygamy. 

“ According to the Word of God, ” he began, “ yon, 
Susan, are not the wife of Raki. He had a wife. He 
stole you to make you a slave. You are free to marry 
whom you will.” So saying Sandale put on his gold- 
rimmed spectacles, a gift from Mr. Maxwell, and tak- 
ing out his Bible began the wedding ceremony. His 
wife and a few friends were there as witnesses. 

“ Asendi, do you take this woman to be your law- 
fully wedded wife? Do you promise to support her, 
cherish and protect her, to cleave to her in sickness or 
in health, to forsake all others and love her only as 
long as you both live? Do you? ” 

“ I do,” the deep voice of Asendi responded. 

“ Susan,” the minister turned to her then, “ do you 
take this man to be }'our lawful husband ? To obey, 
love and cherish him in sickness and in health. To 


ASKNDl, A WKST AFRICAN TALK 




forsake all others and love only him till death do you 
part ? ” 

“ I do,” the sweet voice of Susan replied. 

“Then,” said the minister, ” I pronounce you man 
and wife. What God hath joined let no man put 
asunder.” 

“ It behooves you,” Sandale continued, taking off 
his gold spectacles, “ toget out of the town as soon as 
possible, for Raki will soon miss Susan.” 

Then noticing the beautifully silver-mounted 
double-barrel gun, which Asendi held in his hand, he 
asked, “What’s this you have with you, Asendi? ” 

“ Mast’r Brown forgot to take it with him when he 
went to America. I wrote to him about it ; but he 
never wrote me anything about it,” Asendi answered. 

“ I’m taking it with me to protect me, and Susan, 
Sandale,” he added. 

The preacher nodded his head rather dubiously but 
he said nothing. 

“ Come, Susan, we must be off ! ” A.sendi .said to 
his wife. 

The couple departed, while Sandale remarked, “ If 
the English find him with that gun in his possession, 
he’s done for ! ” 

Asendi and Susan took the road to Ilorun, a town 
of Yoruba, nearer the Niger. 

“ Dear Susan, I love you. I would go anywhere 
for you. See the moon how pure it is, so is my love 


88 ASENDI, a west AFRICAN TALE 

for you ! Susan, my wife,” Asendi said, turning to his 
bride. 

“ Dear Asendi,” she responded, “ I love you too. 
We were made for each other as yonder bird was made 
for its mate.” 

“Yes, Susan,” her husband went on, “you have been 
in my thoughts night and day, since Raki stole you. 
Nay, since you were a little girl and Mrs. Jones 
brought you to the mission house, I loved you.” 

“ Susan replied, “ I loved you too then. I dreamed 
of you at night. Once I thought you had died and I 
was starving to death. You reached your arm out of 
Heaven and handed me some ekkaw and a yam, 
when you were a little boy, Asendi.” 

“ Dear Susan,” her husband added, “ I would have 
done it — had I known you were starving.” 

His arm stole around his wife’s waist, and she 
leaned her head upon his bosom as she had seen Mrs. 
Brown do so often in days gone by to her husband. 

They reached Ilorun in safety. The gate-keeper 
eyed them keenly, and noticing to what families they 
belonged, by the marks on their faces — he would 
have investigated their case, but the dignified bearing 
of Asendi forbade suspicion. 

There was an annual festival in progre.ss at Ilorun 
when the couple arrived. It was the feast of Oro. 
The object of the custom is the subjugation 
of the women. It is connected with the worship of 


ASl'NDI, A WKST AFRICAN TALE 89 

departed men. “ Oro ” means “ a cry ” and it is sup- 
posed to imitate the cry of departed spirits. The cus- 
tom is carried out by men and boys. Its power is 
limited to a certain part of the town, and lasts for a 
week. This ridiculous custom compels every woman 
and child to remain indoors during the whole time of 
its observance, or they will be put to death. The 
noise called “ Oro ” is produced by whirling a flat 
piece of wood, from six to eight inches long, around 
in the air. The appearance of Oro is made the means 
of extorting money and stock from the poor down- 
trodden women of the Yoruba country. 

The festival of Ilorun was being held in that part 
of the town through which Asendi had to pass to get 
to the Niger River, he saw he must be delayed, for 
Susan would not dare to pass through that section un- 
til Oro was over. He resigned himself to the inevit- 
able. A cold fear crept over him that the delay was 
dangerous to himself and wife who ought to get out of 
the country as soon as possible. 

When the week was over they resumed their jour- 
ney. Asendi had about ten Pounds with him as 
money he had received for tutoring the boys at the 
Training School. At each town they were obliged to 
pay tribute, as the marks on their faces indicated they 
were strangers. They had gone but a day’s journey 
from Ilorun when they were halted by the gate-keeper 
of one of the towns. He eyed them with suspicion. 


90 


ASKNOI, A Wl'ST AFRICAN TAI.K 


Asendi watched carefully the inanouvres of the man 
He saw him motion to one of his slaves standing near. 
The slave brought to him some iron shackles. 
Asendi took out his double-barrelled gun and aiming 
it at the gate-keeper, said in a quiet voice, “ Let us 
pass or you’ll know what a Frenchman’s gun is ! ” 
The man quaked. He handed the shackles to his at- 
tendant, and said hurriedly to Asendi, “ Begone — but 
the fox is before you. Do you not fear ? ” 

“ We should fear Him who sends us with a mes- 
sage — not him to whom we are sent,” Asendi replied, 
using a familiar Yoruba proverb. They pa.ssed un- 
molested through the gate. 

“ Come dear Susan, we must get out of here before 
night, Raki has informed the gate-keepers about us.” 

“ Dearest iVsendi,” his wife replied, “ I fear you 
will give your life for me — you should have let me go 
alone ! ” 

“ No, dear Susan,” Asendi replied, “I believe all will 
be well. Come, hasten. If we reach the Hausa land 
we are safe. One town more to pass through ! ” 

They passed the last town in safety. The gate- 
keeper looked keenly at them and smiled, but when 
Asendi showed the gun he let them pass. They were 
then out of the domain of Raki, for they were among 
another tribe — The Hausa people.- 

Asendi breathed more freely and planting a kiss on 
his dusky bride’s forehead, exclaimed, “ Thank God, 
we’re safe ! ” 


Chapter Eighteen. 


Sergeant Graham. 


Asendi settled down to build a church among the 
Hausa people. He also built a hospital for lepers, 
and a general hospital. The poor would go to his 
door, and he never sent them away empty. He tried 
to stop the traffic in slaves. He tried to put an end 
to the offering of human sacrifices. 

Susan would take the title babes who were consid- 
ered under the influence of the evil spirits (i. e. if they 
cut their upper teeth first; or if twins) and destined 
therefore to be put to death, by being buried alive, 
and she would hide them in her house and bring them 
up as her children. The grateful mothers would 
flock to the church to hear the wonderful story of Jesus 
and His love. Susan would make garments for the girls 
who went about with no clothing but a string of 
beads. The people loved the preacher and his wife. 
They would bring the yams and ekkaw and corn, and 
cowries and lay them at the little mud hut where As- 
endi and his wife lived. Years went by. Two babes 
had been born to Asendi — making his home very 
happy. A war then broke out between two of the 
tribes. The English tried to stop it. The Hausa 


92 


ASENDI, A WEST AFRICAN TALE 


young men were getting ready for battle. All the 
men of war of Asendi’s town assembled one evening 
to try their medicines. Each one put some medicine 
on his sword, then pounded his neighbor with the 
sword. The man who was least hurt at the end of the 
procedure, had the strongest medicine. 

A young English officer arrived in the town the 
next day. Asendi received him graciously. The 
officer had some native men with him as his body- 
guard. At a signal from the Sergeant one of the men 
took out two shining shackles and clamped them on 
Asendi’s feet. 

“ I hear that you carry fire-arms, Asendi. It is ag- 
ainst the laws of England. You must come with me.” 
So saying the Sergeant went out of the hut. Two 
stout men lifted Asendi from the ground and carried 
him out. 

“ Let me say good-bye to me wife, sah ! ” shouted 
the captive to the retreating officer. But the Sergeant 
was out of hearing, or had made himself conveniently 
deaf. 

The men hurried Asendi away. They put him in 
the prison-house, among thieves and murderers. As- 
endi sobbed as if his heart would break. 

“ Poor Susan, my darling wife, and babes, how will 
they know ! ” Asendi had two Pounds in his pocket. 
He bethought himself of these, and handing one to 


ASE:i\DI, A WEST AFRICAN TALE 


93 


the officer in charge asked him to tell his wife where 
he was. 

The man promised that he would. 

Every day Susan would go to the prison with her 
baby, taking ekkaw and yams to Asendi, and water to 
drink. 

To whom should he apply for aid ? Mr. and Mrs. 
Maxwell both died from the fever shortly after Asendi 
left Ogbomoso. He did not know anyone else but 
Rev. Brown, and he might be dead too. 

There was the baby — John Asendi Brown ! he would 
write to the baby. “ He must be a young man now,” 
Asendi thought to himself. 

John Asendi Brown was a young preacher in New 
York City. The young people flocked to his church to 
hear him preach. Scores became Christians. Such a 
godly man and eloquent preacher they had never 
heard before. When he preached about hell, sinners 
turned white for fear ; when he talked of Heaven, 
aged saints thought they were there. It was one 
evening as he went home for tea that he received 
Asendi ’s letter. 

“ A letter from Asendi, dear Asendi, I wonder how 
he is getting along. What’s this ! Eh ? — in jail ! — 

Then turning to his mother the young preacher 
said, “ Mother Asendi’s in jail for carrying father’s 
gun.” Tears came to their eyes. 

I must do something for him. Mother,” the young 


94 ASKXDI, A WKST AFRICAN TALF 

preacher exclaimed. “ I’ll see the President. He 
can cable to the King. He may set him free ! ” he 
added. 

Accordingly John A. Brown without delay went to 
Washington, to interview the President. He laid his 
case before him. 

Six months had gone since Asendi was put in prison. 
His wife became thinner and thinner. She had 
scarcely strength to bring him food anymore. Her 
heart was breaking. Sergeant Graham had been 
stationed during that time in the town. He received 
word from His Majesty, to set Asendi free, as he had 
never used the weapon on anyone. He was to con- 
fiscate the weapon however. 

But the Sergeant strangely forgot to liberate the 
prisoner. 

One night as the sergeant was sleeping, a bunch of 
chickens suspended at his tent door, hanging over his 
head — for the sergeant was fond of chickens, and 
had placed them there customarily for fear they would 
be stolen elsewhere — a leopard smelling the fowls 
peered in at the door, and stretching his neck over 
Graham’s body tried to get them. The startled offi- 
cer awoke with a yell. Shivering from head to foot — 
he somehow remembered xAsendi. The next day word 
was sent to the prison that Asendi should be set free. 

Husband and wife embraced each other once more 
in their little home. The children skipped for joy, 




X107 


ASKXFTT, A WKST AIRICAN TAI,K 


95 


that “ Papa ” was home again. Susan’s happy face 
was .seen again in the town. She gained strength 
rapidly. 

John Asendi Brown continued to preach the Gos- 
pel of Peace and Love in his native land ; which, en- 
tering the heart drives polygamy, superstition, slavery, 
and oppression away as gracefully and naturally as 
autumn winds do leaves from a summer tree. 



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